


Season of Chrysanthemums

by Veynn



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Cassandra is not good with emotions but she's trying and that is what's important, First Meetings, Gen, Ghosts, Major Character Injury, Moon Powers Varian (Disney), Not really a happy story I'm sorry, Varian & Cass should dropkick Zhan Tiri into the freaking sun, Varian Needs a Hug (Disney)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veynn/pseuds/Veynn
Summary: Within the outer limits of Corona, Cassandra meets Varian, who seems to be as insubstantial and ethereal as the black rocks. The two lost…forgotten…overlooked (?) souls decide to wander the streets at nightfall in search of ghosts.Though, as Varian has long since had a connection to the spirits of the departed, how can Cassandra be sure if the alchemist is who he says himself to be?
Relationships: Cassandra & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Zhan Tiri & Varian
Comments: 64
Kudos: 112





	1. Miles to Go Before I sleep

Cassandra kept her gaze lowered as she trekked along the normally bustling corridor. The otherwise bright and colorful interior of the castle only served as a grotesque facsimile to the unease that had washed over the kingdom.

Once lively, the other handmaidens had resorted to speak through hushed whispers and behind closed doors.

Usually Cassandra loves the quiet. She should be happy of the peace that had enveloped the kingdom…right?

And yet, she cannot help but worry.

The tranquility that had set over the kingdom was but a mere respite. It was a warning of something more to come. She could just tell from the hushed whispers, Rapunzel’s unease…she’d do anything for the princess, but—

‘Anything’ would not be ‘good’ enough.

Cassandra had not been the one to save Rapunzel during that blizzard. Rapunzel, no, _she_ had saved herself.

What good could she be as Rapunzel’s _best_ friend if she couldn’t protect her?

Sighing, Cassandra turns a corner. The clack of shoes on marble breaks the litany of anxious voices.

Ever since that accursed blizzard had hit Corona and nearly cost them their king and queen, there were…rumors.

Cassandra hears her before she sees the familiar figure donning the exact same sky blue handmaiden’s dress.

The brunette is not one for frivolous rumors and small talk. She knows this, but she cannot help but take note of the words that spill forth from Friedborg. The queen’s handmaiden was always quite the chatterbox, and loathe as Cassandra is to admit it, Friedborg can be an invaluable source of information.

As she very well knows, word travels fast in such a well-knit community such as the castle’s workers. Between tasks there is not much to do in the way of entertainment, so it is with great reluctance that Cassandra quickly darts away before Friedborg or anyone else can see her. Swiftly, Cassandra hides behind a pillar adorned with the princess’s creative [ _infuriating_ ] paintings.

These paintings…they cannot stay on the pillar for long, but Cassandra knows this is a problem for another day.

Laying a hand upon the pillar, Cassandra slightly leans towards the direction of Friedborg’s voice.

Due to sheer distance, she cannot discern exactly what Friedborg is saying, but she does make out the words of various passersby as they walk past her hiding place from behind the pillar.

_“Have you heard about what happened to Old_ _Corona_ _?”_ , a diminutive voice conspiratorially asks.

Cassandra’s eyes widen. She has never visited Old Corona, but she does know of how much of the castle’s staff have family that reside there.

_“Oh yes, what a terrible tragedy it was,”_ another voice states, seemingly not terribly concerned or frightened at all.

_“Right, they said that town was completely wiped out overnight.”_

Overnight…could they be talking about the blizzard? Old Corona had not even crossed her mind during that harrowing experience, but yes—they would have been affected.

_“If the princess hadn’t saved us, who knows what could have happened…”_

_“Nothing good, I’d imagine,”_ another voice interjects.

“It’s always the princess, isn’t it?” Cassandra mutters to herself.

_“But, there’s more to the story.”_

_“No one remains in the wreckage of that desecrated town, except for—”_

_“The last ghost of Old_ _Corona_ _.”_

_“According to rumor, in life, he was a terrifying wizard.”_

_“They say his name was Varian.”_

“Varian…why does that name sound familiar?” Cassandra wonders.

_“Even though he had died in Old_ _Corona_ _, it has been said that he can be seen wandering the streets of_ _Corona_ _’s Capital at night.”_

_“No one knows the reason for this, but…”_

_“To find him, you must follow the trail of chrysanthemums.”_

\---

_“Why did you leave him?”_ Tired, unseeing blue eyes stare up towards the shadowy visage of what could be considered a humanoid figure.

Within the dim light of Corona’s empty streets, they almost appeared to be _glowing_.

_“No, why did you leave us?”_ the figure(s) mockingly question. Their voices are warped and faint, as if they were speaking through water.

_“We were destroyed because of you, and now…Old_ _Corona_ _is no more.”_

_“Silly alchemist…did you think you could save us?”_

Varian’s breath hitches, but he remains utterly silent. His gaze is directed somewhere far away, past the wispy silhouette.

A bright crimson petal gently falls to the cold cobblestone ground.

_“He couldn’t even save his dad,”_ they say. Cheerfully.

_“If you did, then he wouldn’t be encased in amber while you get to roam about freely.”_

Varian’s gaze sharply turns towards the spectre.

_“If it wasn’t for you, your dad would still be alive.”_

“No, you’re wrong,” Varian says as his vision grows darker. “Dad is…he’ll be fine.”

“He has to be……”

Varian falters as he hears a sigh and the crunch of leaves. He turns his head slightly to see a person slowly descend from the shadows. There is a slight blue halo surrounding her, but the sight is far from soothing.

He can almost hear high-pitched, childish laughter, but no, he must be imagining things. Varian blinks and the halo is gone.

The newcomer narrows her eyes upon taking in the sight of vivid blood-red flowers.

The stranger, Varian realizes with a start, has one hand hovering over a sword holster.

“Kid, hey, you okay?” the dark-haired woman asks, her tone laced with concern and suspicion. She has directed her sharp gaze towards Varian, her hand still un-wavering from its position atop the holster.

Varian knows this woman does not trust him. It’s never really bothered him, what with his village never giving him the time of day. He found a friend in Ruddiger—while his beloved raccoon was a great listener, he obviously could not hold a long conversation.

Afterall, raccoons could not talk…yet.

And…he did have his dad—

No…Varian reminds himself. His dad did not leave; he **can’t** leave. He’s still in Old Corona, right where he left him.

Though, as the swordswoman continues to glare at him wearingly, he cannot help but feel a sharp pang jolt through his chest. Perhaps it is loneliness that he feels. Varian was used to conspiratorial whispers every time an invention went wrong, disapproving glances from his father, but—

It had been so long since a living, breathing person had noticed him.

Despite her apparent distrust of him, he would be happy. Even if she somehow wound up _hating_ him, Varian would be content.

He’d rather be acknowledged.

Hatred was better than merely being fading away into the background, as forgotten and weathered as the letters his father had kept from him. At one point in time, Varian had not cared for acknowledgement, but to be seen is to validate his very existence.

If she could see him, that would mean—he wasn’t dead.

As long as he had a living, beating heart, he could save his dad. Even if it felt like he was dying every second, he could not afford to falter from the path he had set for himself.

_He would make his dad proud, even if it was the last thing he’d ever do._

“Hey, I _said_ , are you okay?” the woman repeats, disdain and irritation painted across her face. She merely throws him a quick glance before lowering her gloved hand from the holster.

Though, Varian knows that she could quickly have that sword pointed at his throat in a heart beat.

He attempts to answer the swordswoman, but his voice hitches in his throat. It’s been so long since he had last needed to speak that his voice had grown weak from disuse.

Varian tries to speak again, but his voice is as faint as the gust of wind that billows throughout the plethora of crimson red flowers that adorn the street.

“I, what—” Varian stutters. He averts his gaze from her dark green eyes.

The swordswoman brings her hand back to her face and bites back a dry remark. “You know what, never mind. This is clearly not going anywhere.”

She pauses, waiting for Varian to speak.

Another pause.

Silence.

_This is going to be a long night_ , Cassandra thinks to herself with a grimace. “Are you going to say anything before day break? Or are we just going to stand here all night?”

“Varian.” His voice is muffled and cracked from disuse, but it is the most he has spoken since the blizzard.

“What? I didn’t catch that,” the swordswoman says. “You need to speak up, kid.”

“You do have a name, right?”, she flippantly remarks.

It takes a moment for Varian to gather himself before finding his voice. “My name’s Varian.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Cassandra’s hand reaches for her sword as she points it directly at the alchemist. Varian is un-phased as the sword lightly grazes at his throat.

He knows he should feel scared. He wishes he could, but he feels…nothing.

“Varian…so you’re the wizard of Old Corona. I find it hard to believe someone like you could be a threat to the kingdom, but I’ve heard the rumors…” Cassandra says carefully, stern gaze never wavering.

Varian merely shoots her a disapproving look as he blandly mutters, “That’s why they’re called rumors.”

Cassandra shifts the sword slightly forward as her glare darkens at the dry remark.

His gaze falters. “I do not work with magic,” Varian says. “I am an alchemist, not a wizard.”

“But you are right about one thing,” he relents. “I’m from Old Corona.”

Just as quickly as he had found his voice, Varian falters. He adjusts his antique goggles as he attempts to look somewhere. Anywhere, except for the disapproving glare of the swordswoman.

He knows what she wants to ask. It is a question he had asked himself all too often, and one that he is reluctant to answer.

\---

Cassandra wants to leave. All she wants is to head back to the castle and forget she has ever met this self-proclaimed wizard, but…she cannot.

It’s troubling. She hates it, but she can see the haunted, vacant look in his eyes…which is a look no one, much less a mere child, should have. And as discrete as he thinks himself to be, she notices how his gaze directs itself everywhere and nowhere—as if he were used to solitude. Though, Cassandra very much knows this to be the case.

Try as he might to hide it, she can see how uneasy the alchemist is as he fiddles with the old, bronze goggles on his head. But what’s more worrying is how his worn shirt is hanging off of his frame or how he winces every time he moves his hands ever so slightly.

He’s so weak and pitiful that even a gust of wind could knock him down.

Cassandra really, truly, wants to leave…but—she cannot leave him to fend for himself.

She had left the castle on the coattails of a rumor. While she hadn’t truly believed in a ghost haunting the populated capital of Corona, she had found him.

This boy was not a ghost, but with how he carried himself—

He might as well have been dead.

She knows she’ll regret this, but Cassandra knows her conscience will hate her for leaving.

For what may be the hundredth time that very evening, Cassandra places her sword back in its sheathe. She softens her voice in what she hopes to be a placating tone as she relays her next question.

“Why are you here? In Corona?”

The silence is as endless as the fields of bright red flowers that adorn the kingdom.

“Alright then….” Cassandra slowly speaks as she attempts to dissuade the awkward silence that had descended upon them. “Shouldn’t you go home? Your parents are probably going to kill you for staying out _this_ late.”

A deep inhale of breath. The alchemist’s shoulders are stiff as he raises his head towards Cassandra. “They won’t be.”

He quickly diverts his gaze, and it is this that Cassandra becomes conscious of exactly what had caught the boy’s attention. She realizes that he was not avoiding her gaze—rather, he was staring past her…at what, Cassandra did not know.

Chills ran down her spine as she recounted the hushed, conspiratorial voices she had heard throughout the day. But, she resisted the urge to turn around. It may have been silly and childish and juvenile—all of which are words that would describe Fitzherbert perfectly, but she knew that if she let the ‘alchemist’ stray from her sight for but a mere moment, he would disappear into the night.

The alchemist may not be Corona’s number one criminal, but if the rumors were to be believed, he is more than capable. She is loathe to admit this, even to herself, but this problem…it is more than she can handle on her own.

Cassandra is not one for ‘talking about feelings’, but she’s not completely heartless. Rapunzel, on the other hand, could help him with whatever it is that he needs.

Maybe then, he’ll look a little less broken and more…human.

Her train of thoughts are broken as the alchemist steps closer. His eyes…are still dead, hollow, glassy, but there is an indescribable emotion in his voice.

“How are you not tired?”

Cassandra is startled to see that yes, he looks more ‘present’. Still broken, but ‘alive’. She is not used to this…to going out of her way to speak with someone else. Usually, it is the other way around.

Though, with a lovely, kind, smart, surprisingly self-centered but well meaning friend such as Rapunzel, she was never wont for loneliness.

And so, Cassandra will do what she does best when confronted with those beyond her control or understanding. She cannot fathom what the alchemist could possibly mean, so she…ignores him.

“I’m not even going to answer that,” Cassandra curtly says. Turning sharply on her heels, she beckons for the [not] ghost to follow her. “Whatever it is you’re doing here, don’t. Follow me or not, I don’t care, but I’m heading back to the castle.”

Her steps falter slightly as she waits for the alchemist’s answer. Anything could work—a confirmation, words…

A moment passes.

Another second, and then—

Timid, light footsteps.

Cassandra had left on a whim…in search of what? Ghosts? Wizards? Adventure?

She does not know. There is much she is uncertain of.

\---

Varian is lost. For the first time in forever, he…does not know what it is that he sees. The swordswoman, who introduced herself as _Cassandra_ , is…strange, to phrase it mildly.

She is perfectly alright, albeit a bit cold, if Varian were to be honest. But no, she seemed normal, which is what brought him to his current state of confusion. There is nothing outright ‘otherworldly’ about Cassandra—

But, this is why he is so uncertain about the dark-haired woman.

He is uneasy, but she seems to chalk up his discomfort towards something else. Ever since he had seen her surrounded by an eerie blue glow, Varian just knew there was something off about her.

The reason was beyond him.

He is an alchemist. He does not _like_ magic, but he cannot ignore its signs.

Still, he tried his best to think of an alternative reason for the glow. It was not until Cassandra offered to take him to the princess that he heard a high-pitched childish laugh.

With a jolt, Varian sees that Cassandra was not alone.

A tiny, hazy blue girl was hovering by the swordswoman. If not for her state of transparency, she would have simply looked like a nobleman’s daughter. Though, with the wide, toothy grin she was shooting at him, Varian knew that whatever it was that had attached itself to Cassandra…was far from good.

Satisfied at catching his attention, the regally dressed specter floated gracefully towards Varian.

“What are you?” Varian asks, paying no heed to how off-kilter he may sound to Cassandra.

“Don’t you mean ‘who’ am I?” the blue girl lightly chides.

Her face-splitting grin grows wider at the alchemist’s inquiries. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Varian.”

“How…do you know my name?” Varian asks in a hushed voice.

“Let’s just say I’m a friend, or at least, I’d like to be.”

Taking Varian’s silence as a confirmation to go on, the enchanted girl lightly chuckles. “Don’t worry; I won’t lie to you.”

“You’d better catch up with Cassandra,” she airily advises. “Until we meet again, little moondrop.”

Varian watches as the apparition slowly fades from view. He cannot see her, but he knows she is somewhere nearby. He wishes he could bring himself to care, but why should the ghost of another matter to him?

Perhaps in a different time or place, he would have cared. But now, even more than alchemy or answers, he wants his father back.

And so, with a heavy heart, Varian follows Cassandra. He does not know where this path will lead him, but he promises to make his father proud.

No matter what becomes of him, he knows that this is a promise he cannot afford to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try making a fancomic for this, but life has been really hectic considering everything that's going on with the world right now. I do want to try drawing some small illustrations per chapter at least!
> 
> For an alchemist, Varian always seemed strangely in-tune to the occult throughout the duration of the show. Rapunzel's dreams in Season 1, Zhan Tiri appearing in Varian's dreams during Cassandra's Revenge...
> 
> Season of Chrysanthemums is a semi-horror AU in which Varian can see the dead. ...Technically not sure if that’s even an AU considering it seems like everyone in Tangled can interact with ghosts just fine. It’s more like, he can even ‘see’ weaker spirits that wouldn’t register to the average person. Varian’s susceptible to possession [since ghosts/demons are drawn to instability and Varian was in a really dark place early on in the show] to the point that no one is sure if he’s ‘real’.


	2. Fall from Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is literally a dumpster fire right now, but at least we still have the internet. My area's been quarantined for weeks, but it looks like I have to stay home for awhile. I've never written fanfiction before, but I miss Tangled and I have lots of spare time, so yay for that, I think?
> 
> Can you believe the finale was last month? Because I can't. T.T
> 
> WARNINGS: Mild blood, suicidal thoughts and actions, dissociation, emotional abuse

“You’re going the wrong way, Cassie,” Varian says, glancing once more at Monty’s sweets shop for the third time in a row. They had been wandering for quite some time, but they had never made it far beyond the patch of flowers on the outskirts of the kingdom.

Chrysanthemums, is what they are called. Varian frowns as he glances at the plethora of flowers that are as nigh abundant as the black rocks that have overtaken Old Corona. From a distance, the blood-red flowers seem almost spider-like, which…is fitting.

Prior to the blizzard, he…had rarely seen them. His dad, well, ever since his mother disappeared—

He had gotten rid of all traces of the accursed flower from their village. Of course, it was easier said than done. If he had ever come across one of those cursed flowers, Quirin would merely avert his eyes.

_“In a certain sense, both those flowers and I are the same,”_ Varian muses, stride not quite meeting with Cassandra. Chrysanthemums symbolize death, and Varian…he is everything that one would not desire their child to be. He cannot fault his beloved father from avoiding his very presence.

Varian, if many from his village are to be believed, is as non-descript as a ghost. With how rarely he leaves his lab buried underneath the foundations of Old Corona, the very sight of him could be seen as an ominous foreboding of tragedies to follow.

And, considering the numerous explosions that follow in his wake…were it not for his affinity for destruction and mayhem, his existence would be that of an old legend—

His very existence…whether it be from the village or his father’s own eyes, is an aberration.

Like the numerous chrysanthemums that have sprung up all over Corona, Varian is as welcome within everyday life as a funeral procession on a sunny day.

Chrysanthemums are often used as funerary flowers and Varian…

He does not wish to follow them, but similarly to that of the black rocks—

They have embedded themselves into his life. Death is as prominent a part to his very being as breathing.

Though, try as he might, he cannot bring himself to care. As he listens to the rhythmic pattern of their footsteps on cobblestone road, he just…does not care. Or at least, that is what he tells himself.

Varian feels as if he is submerged underwater. He does not know where or how this journey will progress, but he will follow where the tides take him.

\---

Cassandra is unnerved. The alchemist, he is much too…compliant. He does not speak. Varian…he is eerily observant of everything and nothing.

She feels like he is judging her.

It is a feeling she does not like, but he hasn’t exactly committed any crimes. And so, she continues to bury these feelings.

Still, she glances at him from the corner of her eye—she wishes he would not call her ‘Cass’ or any variation of her name.

They are not friends. They are not acquaintances, and they most certainly are not family. She does not need any friends except for Rapunzel, and she would like to keep it that way. This alchemist…she merely pities him.

It is true that she prefers peace and quiet above all else, but this silence is unfathomable. If it were to continue, Cassandra knows it will drown her.

She stops as she spots… _another_ horrid chrysanthemum. The sight of it makes her blood boil, irrationally so, and she crushes it underneath her boot.

“What the hell are with these flowers,” Cassandra says, frowning. “It’s like the kingdom’s celebrating a second Day of Hearts…and goodness knows we need more than one disgustingly sweet holiday per year.”

Varian is still as he glances up at Cassandra. It occurs to her that for once, he might actually be ‘seeing’ her and not…anything else.

“I’ve never celebrated Day of Hearts,” Varian simply states. His attention is now directed to the now desecrated chrysanthemums.

“Your parents have never put a chocolate egg in your stocking?” Cassandra asks. She’s not surprised, but this is the most she has heard the alchemist talk about himself all evening.

“Wrong holidays, Cassie,” Varian states.

_“Again with the nicknames,”_ Cassandra grumbles to herself. “Oh, shut up, kid. You know what I meant.”

The alchemist smiles, almost fondly, but it seems ill-suited and horribly mismatched on him. “Dad’s too busy to celebrate, but I don’t mind.”

“Your dad, huh? What’s he like?” Cassandra asks, curiosity piqued.

“He’s great,” Varian says. There is a light in his eyes, but it looks sad. Uncertain. He chuckles, but the sound is much too hollow.

Quickening his pace, he walks past Cassandra, and she swears that the curious streak in his hair is _glowing_. She looks up at the night sky, and for a minute—she cannot help but compare the serene full moon to the sad, broken alchemist.

And as quickly as Varian had spoken about himself, the ever-resilient silence had enveloped the duo once more.

Her mind wanders, and she cannot help but wonder what it is about the alchemist that has her so concerned. He is not the only troubled child in the kingdom. During the time Princess Rapunzel had been whisked away by an evil witch, the king had an iron-hold on Corona. There were many orphaned children before her disappearance, and there were many deaths. The high mortality rate is the one constant of every kingdom, but until Rapunzel had reappeared, executions were abundant.

Cassandra’s dad always shielded her from public executions, but as she grew older, she became more accustomed to them. Corona did not condone witch burnings, but hangings were much too common.

This is a facet of the kingdom the king had buried ever since Rapunzel had returned.

Quite frankly, she does not know if Rapunzel truly knows what the kingdom had been like for the last eighteen years.

Cassandra is a strong believer in punishment and justice, but executing petty criminals over thievery…she does not know how to feel about that. She is not naïve enough to believe there is no hunger or sadness in Corona.

But, the king’s word is law. Cassandra knows this, and she is a firm supporter of the royal family.

She’d never admit this, but she wouldn’t wish a gory end to someone as stupid as the princess’s boyfriend.

Eugene is the _worst_ , but even he doesn’t deserve to be lynched. The thief’s faults outweigh his good points, but if there is one positive to be said—

Were it not for him, the princess would never have returned to the throne. Had he never stolen the crown, Cassandra would have never met Rapunzel.

Of course, she’d never admit this to his face, or anyone else, for that matter. His head is big enough as it is.

Though, as Cassandra thinks of the alchemist, she cannot suppress the sinking realization and bizarrely enough, relief…that he is not what the rumors imply him to be. In another time, in another place, Varian could have been capable of feats beyond her imagining.

However, in this here and now, Varian is nothing.

He is a blank slate, but Cassandra does not know if this is good or bad…for him _and_ the kingdom.

\---

The alchemist is apprehensive. He swears they have been walking in circles, but he does not voice his observation—Cassandra is already irritated by their predicament as it is. He does not wish to add onto her growing stress.

Still, a part of him is worried of what Cass would think of this. Surely, she’ll eventually realize he is to blame for their wayward status.

Any misfortune that Varian encountered or anyone that had the bad luck to meet him are all due to him. This is a fact, albeit one that he has grown weary of.

“Hey, kid, Varian—” _This_ is what snaps Varian out of his reverie.

“You’re awfully silent; got something on your mind? He knows the swordswoman is unnerved by his presence. It would be more surprising if she were not, but there is a darkness seeping into his vision.

Varian hesitates, and then…

“Always,” he says. Varian can barely hear her voice. Cassandra…she sounds muffled and far away.

As his vision slowly ebbs away, Varian feels a bone-chilling cold slice through the air like a thin knife. Shadows with bright, glowing eyes—they are always there. Ever present. Vigilant. Watching.

But today, in this time and now, they scare him.

For once, they are not gathered around him. Their mirthless grins and icy, raspy whispers are not directed towards the alchemist.

Instead, they are drawn to the dark-haired woman.

He is not scared for himself, but Cassandra…what is it about her that draws them near?

Varian reaches one hand out towards her, but it is too late. The windows of the store shatter into pieces and his world is enveloped in a dark kaleidoscope of jagged edges and glass.

Cassandra’s voice echoes into the night as she repeatedly yells his name. He manages to catch a glance before falling into the depths of unconsciousness, and that is when she sees _her_.

The small, blue ghost girl…she is standing behind Cassandra. Her hands are clasped together in a mockery of a prayer. The girl’s eyes are large, and almost pupil-less in her excitement.

Perhaps she is not a ghost like Varian had once thought. This enchanted girl is not a phantom or lost soul, but something more. Something old and dark.

Her grin is far, far too large on her face.

“Good night, my dear moondrop,” she says.

And then…

Nothing.

\---

Varian wakes up. But it is not in this ‘here’ and ‘now’. He is nearly overcome by joy when discovering that he is back in Old Corona. Ruddiger is curled up in a tight ball on his pillow, but he knows that this is not where he belongs.

Old Corona had been buried under snow and black rocks. Right now, it is a dream. As much as he’d like to stay, he knows he cannot—not as long as Varian’s father is trapped in amber.

At the moment, he is not a corpse. Quirin is not a suspended corpse buried within a translucent tomb of loathsome crystal. He knows this, but Varian cannot cope with living in such close quarters with one he can see but cannot speak with.

It is almost like how he had felt with his mother.

Varian does not remember much of her. She had left one day with promises to return…but instead, she vanished.

Only empty promises and a broken family were left in her wake.

If there is anything Varian hates more than himself, it is broken promises.

There was nothing left to bury, but Quirin tried. She had always loved apples, from what little his father had told him of her. And so, there is a small patch of earth underneath one of his their apple trees dedicated to her.

The gravestone is chipped and ugly in its imperfections, but it is also beautiful. Had it not been where it was, Varian would have truly believed his mother would one day return. Childishly, he had once believed his dad would be proud of him if he could be the one to find her.

Though, of course, these were merely the musings of a lonely child. As time grew on, Quirin neglected the grave until…it became overrun with weeds and cobwebs. His father could not bear to look at the grave—

It only reminded him of his lost wife.

Back when his dad could look him in the eyes, he’d say Varian was the splitting image of her. Varian thinks this is why Quirin will not exchange more than one or two phrases with him nowadays, or…why he does not spare him a single glance.

The alchemist wishes this to be the answer, but it is but a dream. His mother who loved alchemy and apples, she will never return. And his dad—

Quirin has never uttered these words, but he knows. Varian is well aware he is a disappointment in his father’s eyes. Afterall, Varian is a problem child, as the other villagers are more than eager to gossip.

Though, never to him _or_ his father, of course. Quirin is the village chief, and Varian, well, they are scared of him.

More so than the explosions that follow his every move, more than botched experiments and inventions gone haywire, Varian can—

Varian can see the dead, or at least, that is what the other villagers say.

He, himself, does not know what exactly it _is_ that he sees, but he is self-aware enough to know that they are visions no sane person should witness.

It had started off small. A faint flicker at the corner of his eye, shadowy figures roaming the halls of his home at the dead of night…it was nothing to be concerned with.

_“Merely the overactive imagination of a child,”_ is what his father had always told him. But, they had persisted as they had grown older.

Varian tried his best to ignore them, but by then, it was too late. The damage had already been done, and the village of Old Corona regarded him with fear and contempt.

Rumors circulated that he, himself, was a ghost haunting the village, or more infuriatingly—

A _wizard_ of all things.

Thankfully, his father had never put much stock into the rumors. For that, Varian was grateful. But he knew Quirin did not trust him. From how Quirin would walk on eggshells around him or how he could not look Varian in the eyes, much less be in the same room as him, Varian _knew_.

His dad was not scared of him. Rather, he was scared for him.

Visions are not normal. Disembodied shadows…are what you’d read about in a childish story.

Quirin had never outright told Varian any of this, but he had seen the pills he’d slip into Varian’s meals. It was clockwork—every morning before heading out into the fields.

And as it was a routine, Varian would toss his breakfast out every morning. He did not want to waste food, but he knew this was not the help he needed.

Varian wished he could be a perfect son; it was what his father deserved.

He wanted to gift his father a sense of normalcy in their lives. But instead, their world was an empty house and filled with the cold, mirthless laughter of silence and forgotten promises.

Involuntarily, Varian raises his hand to his eyes and is surprised to find it damp with tears.

He sits down on the floor of his fake house. He stays there for hours and hours until he…is not.

\---

Varian awakens to the sight of the concerned swordswoman. It is odd, he thinks, of how much she cares. No one had ever cared for him…not during his previous life, or his supposed afterlife. The sight is as unnerving at the scent of chrysanthemums that have overtaken Corona.

The comparison is gaudy, and tasteless, and macabre, but he feels like a cadaver within a coffin. With how distressed Cassandra appears, he could almost believe this to be a funeral.

He’d nearly believe it too, were it not for the dull pain radiating around his head.

To his surprise, he notices a small tear on the swordswoman’s sleeve. Apparently, Cassandra had used it as a makeshift bandage. It seems that in his fall, Varian had lightly grazed his head.

For a mere, guilty moment, Varian looks away from the swordswoman. She is prickly and chilling, but there is also warmth buried deep inside her. These kindnesses are more than he could ever deserve. He is thankful, but he knows nothing he could ever do would be enough to repay her.

He looks up towards the night sky and is entranced by the moon. It is large, glowing…he feels as if it is beckoning him to follow.

Slowly rising to his feet much to Cassandra’s protests, Varian walks forward. He does not appear to entirely be ‘there’, or present, and Cassandra is concerned for the strange alchemist once more.

She wants to help, but she feels as if she is carrying the weight of heavy lead on her back. Helpless, Cassandra looks on, and sees where it is the alchemist has gone.

Varian.

Varian is going to jump.

Cassandra curses. She had thought it better to traverse high ground as she carried the injured alchemist towards the castle. Ideally, it made for a shorter route, but now more than anything else, she regrets her decisions.

Due to her mistake, he will die.

\---

The moon is comforting. Varian had always loved the night, which was just yet another reason as to why he was truly a disappointment. With the absence of sunlight, their fields would not yield any crops.

He knows there is nothing good to come from the absence of light, but it is only in darkness that he can find peace.

Varian’s steps slow to a halt as he looks over the edge. Only, to him, he sees… _something_. There is a person beckoning to him. Red hair, goggles that look so much like his, only hers are not quite so old and antiquated.

Her face is sun-kissed and covered in freckles. The woman’s eyes are soft as she beckons him to walk forward.

One step, and they will be reunited.

All it will take for Varian to finally achieve happiness is a single second. One quick decision and his journey will finally be over.

He takes in one deep breath, raises one foot over the ledge, but—

\---

Cassandra is scared. She is terrified. While she manages to catch Varian in the nick of time, the damage has already been done. She is out of her element. Had she missed him by a single moment, Varian would have shattered into pieces atop the black rocks that have sprung up stories below their feet.

If she failed to catch him, Varian—

He would be as broken as one of the wooden dolls in her childhood. The only difference here is that some cheap glue could piece them back together, but Varian would have been beyond salvation.

She sees the light blue glow of his eyes and the curious hairstreak in his hair, but she does not care in her anger and terror.

The alchemist, he tried to end his own life, and Cassandra…she was powerless to stop him. Just a slip of the hand, and he would have been gone.

Cassandra grits her teeth as she looks down at Varian. He is crumpled on the ground, his wrist still clasped tightly in her hand. His glove has shifted slightly to reveal skin marred with bruises.

She is angry. At herself, at how broken this child is, at the lot life has thrown at him… _them_.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Cassandra yells at the alchemist. She knows he is not to blame here. He is a victim of life. Varian deserves help and understanding, which is something that she can sadly not give him.

Varian is not alright.

No sane person would throw themselves off a ledge.

She is frustrated with the blank look in Varian’s eyes. She wants to knock some sense into him, but he is not Rapunzel or Lance or….that ridiculous man. He is Varian, but she does not know him.

Sighing, Cassandra lets him go. She knows anger does not help, but what else is she to do? Thankfully, they are nearly at the castle.

Only there, will the alchemist finally be safe.

Varian looks at her and smiles. It is a sad smile, and not one that reaches his eyes, but it is sincere. Cassandra’s heart nearly breaks at the sight. She does not ‘deal’ with emotions, but she’s not nearly as heartless as she’d like to believe.

“Thank you, Cassie,” Varian says. He reaches into the pocket of his apron and pulls out a glass vial filled with a semi-translucent, bubbling formula.

In her tiredness, Cassandra is too slow to catch him. He tosses the vial towards the ground and Cassandra’s world is enveloped in smoke.

As the smoke clears, the swordswoman realizes the alchemist has gone missing.

He had vanished into thin air.

Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors. Had she not followed them, she would never have met this broken, sorrowful ghost.

With a shudder, she cannot help but be thankful for them. Had she not listened to them on a whim, Varian could have died this evening.

As she slowly walks backs towards the castle, Cassandra hopes the alchemist will be alright.

Now, more than ever, Cassandra is lost.


	3. Smile-The Worst is Yet to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Depictions of death, gore, suicidal thoughts and actions (Nothing attempted)

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Brilliant, blindingly bright blue eyes glare at him from above a pillar of black rocks. The alchemist sees her eyes are as sharp and jagged as the black rocks jutting out of the ground, all of which are pointed directly towards him.

“Give me the moonstone, Varian,” the female voice says. She jumps off the pillar and Varian sees her hair is a bright fluorescent blue. He squints at the sight. It is painful to look, but he cannot tear his eyes away. “If you want to make up for everything you’ve ever put Corona through, you _will_ do as I say.”

He merely shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Oh, and why not?” Varian wants to cry. This voice, it is familiar. He wants to give up. He wants to make see her smile—

Not the cruel, mirthless grin that has been etched into her face, but one of genuine warmth. He knows that if he listens to her, there will be no turning back.

Varian…he does not want to refuse. But, he cannot do this. He cannot allow Cassandra to claim the rest of the moonstone.

_“Why has it come to this?”_ he laments. Cassandra had wanted to help. She was a hero, so why had she resorted to ill-conceived means for the sake of…whatever this is. Varian does not know what exactly is going on through her head, but he promises himself that he will never leave her.

“It’s all because of you, _moondrop_.”

Realization dawns on Varian. He _knows_ that voice. It’s her…the enchanted girl……

“Our poor Cassandra had her destiny ripped away,” the girl says. There is a sadistic glee in her tone. “If you hadn’t stolen a drop of the moonstone from her, she would be whole.”

“But now, Cassandra is as incomplete as _you_ ,” she pale girl says. Only now, she is not translucent. “Had you not been born, the full powers of the moonstone would be in Cassandra’s grasp.”

The girl smiles sweetly, but Varian can see the maliciousness in her words. “Of course, we can easily fix that. Isn’t that _right_ , Cassandra?”

There is a pause as Cassandra fails to meet his eyes. And then—

“I _really_ don’t want to hurt you.”

In the blink of an eye, Cassandra is towering above Varian. The enchanted girl is off to the side, humming an unrecognizable tune. “I’m sorry, kid, but it’s either you or Rapunzel.”

Varian is shocked. His breath hitches as blue…blue has completely enveloped his vision. It is a merciless color.

Blue, the color of the sky his father so loved back in Old Corona. Blue, the color of his eyes, the color of the streak in his hair as it glows faintly…

Blue, the color that had viciously taken Cassandra away. It had corrupted her beyond recognition, and Varian fears she is gone forevermore.

Blue…it is blue that he sees as bright red blood flows from his chest. Cassandra, she has plunged her hand deep into his chest. It was sudden…so sudden that he cannot feel anything beyond his shock.

Her hand is wrapped around his heart, and as she tugs at it…

“Nothing personal, Varian,” she says. Her face is hollow but he can almost hear the sorrow in her voice.

“Remember what this is for, Cassandra,” the enchanted girl mildly condescends as she shakes her head in disapproval. “There is nothing to regret, my dear.”

“There can be only one moonstone in this world.” Varian is fading, fading, fading……

“It’s either you or him, and this boy…well, he is not fit to wield the moonstone.” The girl smiles. The sight burns into his very soul.

“If he cannot handle his powers, this boy revokes his right to live. It’s only fair,” she says.

He is now gone, and Cassandra that he had once known—

She is gone.

Nothing stays, and yet, the world still turns.

As long as the sundrop exists, the moonstone will forever remain on this earth.

\---

Cassandra sighs for the umpteenth time that day. She loves Rapunzel. Truly, she does. But…this job. Her station. Her lot in life—

She cannot stand her position as the princess’s pretty handmaiden. Cassandra is destined for more; she _knows_ this. There is much more that she has to offer. Hell, this castle is suffocating her. But, she knows she cannot complain. She should be thankful; she has been blessed with stability and fortune.

Though, there is a nagging thought in her mind that there is more for her out there…

“Cassandra, there you are!” The dark-haired woman looks towards the source of the voice. There, running towards her, is Princess Rapunzel.

A soft smile graces her features as Rapunzel comes near. It is a bittersweet feeling. With Rapunzel, Cassandra cannot help but feel content and yet…hurt. It is the same feeling she gets whenever she sees the princess with her beloved thief.

Cassandra does not know how to deal with these feelings. And so, just like what she had done the previous evening, and the last 23 years of her life—

She buries these conflicting emotions under lock and key.

“Hey there, Raps,” Cassandra says.

“I haven’t seen you around all day, Cassandra!” Rapunzel exclaims. She is all smiles and rainbows. Truly, she is the embodiment of the sun, while Cassandra is…

“Oh, you know, just been…around,” the swordswoman says mildly.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” Rapunzel says slyly, tone hushed and conspiratorial. “A little bird told me you snuck out of the castle last night.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “Before you get any ideas, it was nothing. I needed a walk.”

“Or maybe you wanted to find the ghost?”

There…there it is. Cassandra resists the urge to roll her eyes. “No, there was no ghost.”

“Aha, so that was what you were looking for!” the princess exclaims triumphantly, stars in her eyes.

“Rapunzel, I _don’t_ care about ghosts.”

“Well, I do! What was the ghost like? Was he cute? Does he wear a pointy hat? Oooh, what if—”

“Please, Raps. Enough.” Cassandra can feel a migraine developing as she rubs her eyes. “I had a long night.”

“Alright,” Rapunzel concedes. “Just…tell me if there’s anything bothering you, Cassandra. Or something that I can help you with. We’re friends, afterall.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure—”

Cassandra hesitates. _Should…should I tell Raps about Varian?_

She highly doubts she’ll ever see the alchemist ever again, but Rapunzel has the resources and manpower. They could search for him, but then what? Cassandra has done all of the hard work, but Rapunzel will reap the glory.

_No, it’s not that at all._

For once, there is something in her life that Cassandra…does not need to share. To that alchemist, Cassandra is not the princess’s handmaiden or, anything, for that matter. She is just ‘Cassandra’, but what would happen if she allows Rapunzel to intervene?

She wants to prove herself. If she cannot save one single person on her own, then what good is she?

All of her efforts would be for naught if the very person she was meant to protect did the saving for her.

Cassandra narrows her eyes at Rapunzel. Brushing off the princess’s inquiries, she now knows that she needs to find the alchemist. For herself, for Rapunzel, and for him. She will prove herself to be capable.

She is not the lonely little girl waiting for her father to return all those years ago.

Cassandra is in-control of her own destiny.

\---

The last remaining lantern illuminating the desolated roads of Corona had burned out. Cassandra watched as their light flickered before plunging themselves into darkness. Fortunately, Cassandra did not have to waste one of her own candles as it was a full moon.

She had been wandering the streets for hours, and Cassandra was sorely starting to regret her decision.

Throughout the night, the sinking suspicion that perhaps the alchemist did succeed in taking his own life crossed her mind, but…she ignored those intrusive thoughts. It was dark, and cold…he could have decided to stay home.

Corona was a long travel from _Old_ Corona, afterall. This is what Cassandra tells herself, but she is well aware the alchemist does not possess a single ounce of self-preservation.

_He’d probably drink a vial of acid if given the opportunity._

Cassandra is about to give up and call it a night, but then she sees him. Seated upon a bench at the end of the street, there is an unmistakable figure. Goggles, an apron much too big for him, and…bandages wrapped around his head.

She did it. She has found Varian.

As she walks closer, she is surprised to see that yes, he has replaced her makeshift effort with fresh bandages. Cassandra is sure Varian did not do this himself.

_Maybe he does have someone to care for him_ , she muses.

“Varian, there you are—”

“Cassie, you’re back!!” Varian waves at her, grin large and exuberant. He is swinging his legs back and forth on the bench. For once, he looks just like the child that he is supposed to be. His shoulders are not hunched over in what Cassandra suspects are due to a desire for him to be unnoticed. His bright blue eyes are wide and filled with joy.

Varian is happy and Cassandra is at a loss.

Her eyes are not deceiving her. The alchemist looks to be truly happy. He is the complete antithesis of what he had been the previous evening. When she first met him, when she caught him minutes before he would have plummeted to his death.

There are many things Cassandra could say, but her brain does not exactly function at the same time as her mouth. “I’ve already told you to stop calling me that. I don’t do nicknames, kid.”

“Then, can I call you Cass?” His eyes are bright. Cassandra trusts her judgment. She knows this cannot possibly be real, but the proof is all here. Varian is either an incredibly gifted actor or his personality was erased overnight.

She is about to respond, but Varian immediately jumps up from the bench. He spins around on his heels and outstretches his hands as if he is about to make an important proclamation.

And, perhaps to him, this declaration is of the utmost importance.

“Wait, don’t answer that. I’m totally going to call you Cass!”

In her vexation and confusion, Cassandra does not answer. She is dead silent, but Varian—he continues to chatter away.

“Man, you would not believe the day I’ve had. I was trying to fix our roof earlier, but it’s been so long since I’ve last checked that it oxidized to copper carbonate.” He stutters as he talks. It is almost endearingly cute in a way, but Cassandra is unnerved at the alchemist’s spontaneous turnaround.

He wildly gesticulates his arms as he goes on and on about concepts that fly right over her head. She _would_ stop him, but……

“Its effects are very beneficial as a protective layer, but then I was so busy with my experiments that I forgot to eat again and—”

_Wait._

_He forgot to what?_

“Slow down, kid. One word at a time,” Cassandra says, voice stern and unwavering. _What’s his deal?_

“Ah, it’s just…there’s no one to talk to in my village.” Varian looks almost ashamed. His expression morphs, and he looks nearly as forlorn and hopeless as he did the previous night. Cassandra hates the sight, but more than anything else, all she wants are answers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy!” he quickly backpedals his words, nearly tripping in the process. “There’s nothing to be sad about, nope. Nothing!”

He smiles brightly, and it looks genuine.

The gears in Cassandra’s head are screeching to a halt. Varian is an oxymoron; there is nothing about him with a shred of common sense of logic.

_Why…is he here again? Is home is so far from the Capital._

“Didn’t you say you’re from Old Corona?” Cassandra says, slowly. She assesses the situation for any signs. He seems hesitant and anxious, but still, she does not know the meaning for any of this.

Varian is speaking at a breakneck pace, but before long, he _finally_ answers her.

“Cass, you remembered!!” is what he says. His voice is jubilant, but Cassandra…she hears the peculiarity in his tone.

“Varian, why exactly are you here?” Cassandra says. She keeps her eyes fixated on the so-called ‘ghost’. Bright red chrysanthemum flowers are scattered beneath their feet and the moon is luminescent and full. She suppresses a shudder at the almost fairytale-like encounter.

“Hmm, I don’t think even he knows…” Varian says, one gloved hand resting at the back of his head.

_He’s….acting as if he is not Varian……_

“What do you mean by ‘he’?” Cassandra says, dreading the answer.

“Oh, who knows?” Varian smiles serenely at Cassandra. Flowers are still gathered around them, and she cannot help but compare the alchemist to the chrysanthemums that have suddenly sprung up in Corona.

“Say, Cass, can we meet again like this tomorrow evening?” For a second, his expression is unreadable. Not sad or happy or hollow, but it is an emotion that Cassandra cannot describe.

She should refuse. Whatever this is, it is much too big for her to comprehend.

Cassandra nods.

“Great!” Varian clasps her hands in his own. He beams up at her, but Cassandra does not know how to feel. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a real friend!

He leaves and once again, Cassandra is alone.

\---

His footsteps resound loudly against soft earth as he runs. In a cavern beneath the very foundations of his house, Varian is playing a losing game.

_This is another dream_ , he tells himself.

Only…is that the truth?

Varian, he does not know himself. He has not known who his ‘true’ self even is.

His father, Quirin…the last time he had exchanged more than two words with him…he had confessed that he had never ‘known’ Varian.

He does not believe in ghouls or phantoms. Neither of them do. He has seen the bruises and cuts on Varian’s arms. Quirin has seen how false Varian’s smiles are, and how year by year…

The alchemy that he had loved so dearly…even _that_ could not help him. Varian does not wish to die.

He is not responsible for those cuts and bruises, but his father is hesitant to believe him.

They both tried, but nothing was good enough. Varian tried, but _he_ was not enough.

Quirin certainly loved Varian. And Varian loved him, but…

Who is he?

His head aches, but he continues onwards. A faint, girlish laugh echoes throughout the cavern. It rings harshly against the backdrop of crumbling walls and dark, black rocks.

This specter has followed his every move. She has taken a liking to him, but Varian…

He wants this nightmare to end.

_Please, let me wake up_ , he pleads. Though, with what? He does not know.


	4. Who is the Real You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too much to say here, but RIP to the castle's walls.

The castle should be warm and inviting, but its warmth cannot reach her. Within the hallowed walls of the stone fortress, Cassandra is but a stranger. She had lived there as the daughter of the Captain for her whole life, and yet, this home…it is not for her. Cassandra is but an ill fitting piece in the castle; she does not belong here.

Her destiny shall forever be to play her part as a daughter, as the princess’s handmaiden, and……

To remain loyal to the crown until death claims her.

Unfortunately, that time will not come soon enough.

Vivid red light peeks through the curtains of the large window encapsulating nearly half of the wall. Evidently, the sun is nearly ready so set and Cassandra—would more than _love_ to leave at this very moment. There is only so much chatter she can take, and Eugene is already trying her patience from merely existing.

Her eye twitches as he drones on and on, the topic of which she does not recall. She had zoned out long ago, but Rapunzel seems fairly enraptured. The princess has her hands on her face and a lovesick expression. It should be endearing, but Cassandra cannot take this.

The short-haired woman’s hands are itching to reach for her sword, but she is either too obvious in her discontent or dumb luck is on the thief’s side.

With a yelp, Eugene flails towards the ground as Cassandra’s sword embeds itself into the wall.

Mere inches from the man’s scalp.

“Well then,” Rapunzel says, perhaps a bit too brightly. Her face is contorted into a wide grin, green eyes betraying her alarm and…tiredness of the constant bickering between her companions. “We can cover that up with a painting and…no one will be able to tell the difference!”

“Ha, it will take more than that to cover up her lack of a soul,” Eugene grumbles. He has remained on the carpeted ground, eyes directed towards the ceiling. “Cassandra is as warm and welcoming as a block of ice.”

Cassandra strolls over to Eugene, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. “We’ll see how nice I am when I shove this sword down your throat—”

“Okay then, enough of that!” Rapunzel half yells hastily as she runs over towards the two before their squabbling can escalate. “Cass, I can see maybe you’re a bit…under the weather?”

“But don’t worry, I know what to do!” the princess exclaims. “Let’s hug it out!”

Cassandra and Eugene both stare at her, dead silent.

“C’mon, you know you love us,” Rapunzel says, arms outstretched. Cassandra resists the urge to slam her head into the wall. Hugs…are _not_ her thing.

“Look, sunshine, I love everything about you, but _Cassandra_? She’d sooner tear my arms off than willingly look in my direction,” Eugene says carefully, getting up as he slowly backs away from the woman.

“It’s true,” the swordswoman mutters swiftly. “I despise him.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” he mutters. “Is it just me or does she seem more prickly than usual?”

Cassandra eyes shift towards the window. She sighs, taking note of how the day had already come to and end. The sky is still a dark shade of red, but she can make out the visage of the tiny, nearly translucent moon. It is a pale drip of paint in a sea of red, but Cassandra is reminded of the very many paintings that surround her in this very room—all courtesy of Rapunzel’s boundless enthusiasm and creativity.

“Cass…?” Rapunzel approaches her, concerned. “Are you going to visit your ghost friend today?”

“What, no…of course not.” she apprehensively responds. But, she knows that is a lie. As soon as the castle is asleep, Cassandra will venture off into the city, alone.

“Oh, please,” Eugene lightly scoffs. “The only people who want to see Cassandra at such an unholy hour are those who made a pact with her. Maybe they found her summoning circle and…want someone to be—”

He makes a slicing motion across his throat. Cassandra rolls her eyes. With her sword still embedded deep into the wall, she picks up a pillow and whacks Eugene over the head with it.

“Ouch, ouch, watch it.” Eugene attempts to brush back his hair to its usual appearance, but to no avail. “Perfection takes effort, Cassandra. Just because you don’t care, doesn’t mean—”

“Okay, I give up!!” He raises his hands in a placating motion as Cassandra reaches for another pillow.

Rapunzel looks from Eugene to Cassandra. She is pensive and eerily quiet throughout the chaos that had unraveled before her. As much as she’d love for the two to make up and become the best of friends, she knows they both need their space…as loathe as she is to admit this.

Seeing as how Cassandra has dropped the pillow and retrieved her sword from the now heavily chipped wall, Rapunzel quickens in her haste—taking a basket she had kept behind books and many projects.

“This is for you!” Rapunzel says, starry eyed as she thrusts the woven basket into Cassandra’s arms. It is filled to the brim with muffins. The scent is delightful, but she can only stare dead-eyed at Rapunzel in confusion.

“Thanks, Raps. I guess.”

“Well, these aren’t for you—no wait, they are!” Rapunzel backpedals in her excitement. _Cassandra finally has a new friend!_

“Just…share these with that ghost wizard,” she exclaims cheerfully. “And please tell me if he likes them!”

Before Cassandra can respond, Rapunzel had already pushed her out of the room. She offers once last smile before slamming the door on Cassandra’s face.

“Have fun!” Rapunzel says, voice muffled behind the door.

Cassandra is silent for a few moments.

_What just happened?_

Her eyes shift towards the basket of muffins and then towards the door.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Cassandra leaves.

\---

“You’re back!! I didn’t think you’d want to see me _again_.” Cassandra knows he is happy, but she cannot help but wince at the statement. He is self-deprecating, too unsure of himself…Varian reminds her of someone, but she cannot think of whom……

She wracks her brain for a hint, an answer, but nothing comes to mind.

Varian is subdued. The bandages wrapped around his head from the previous evening is now gone. He is much less cheerful (?) than he was the previous day, but he has still made leaps and bounds than when they had first met…when he had nearly thrown himself off a ledge. She still does not know what came over him, but he has never brought it up since then and Cassandra, she does not know how to address it. She should be relieved, but there is still an air of mystery to the alchemist.

Cassandra is not a superstitious person at heart, but looking at him, she cannot help but feel a sense of foreboding. She had always believed in destinies, and she knows that this child has a long road ahead of him.

Though, _if he lives long enough to find his destiny_ , is a possibility that she does not want to consider.

Shaking these thoughts out of her hand, Cassandra shoves the basket of muffins into his arms, albeit a bit too harshly. Varian nearly topples over from the force, but quickly recollects himself as he beams up at her.

“Are…these for me?” he shyly smiles as he looks at the muffins. “I’ve never gotten these before.”

“You’ve never had muffins?” Cassandra asks, incredulously. _It’s not like I care._

“No, presents,” Varian says, a bit too brightly.

Cassandra freezes up. _What kind of sad life has this kid been leading?_

“Does this mean we’re friends?”

Varian is bright…too bright to hear. Cassandra does not want to disappoint him. She should answer, say _yes_ , we’re friends, but are they? ‘Pity’ is not a good foundation for friendship.

“Don’t think too deeply into it,” she chides. “The princess made them.”

Cassandra walks off as Varian struggles to keep up with her pace.

“Where are we going?” he questions, munching on a muffin as they walk down the long, narrow roads of the Capital. The bright, red chrysanthemum flowers that had overtaken Corona are still everywhere. It is a sight that greatly annoys and unnerves Cassandra.

“Why, we’re—” Her voice tapers to a halt. She had not been thinking of where to go…her feet had simply started walking of their own accord.

Varian cuts her off, running past the swordswoman as he exclaims, “Oh, I know this place!”

The sky is adorned in stars. They are much too bright, and the moon…it is full and glowing a soft white hue. The sight is so vivid that Cassandra swears she could cup the moon in her hands if she reached out.

“Dad used to take me here all the time. He said mom loved it here. She was also an alchemist, but she loved the stars,” Varian is smiling. “Dad used to tell me this, considering I was too young to remember.”

The two are in a large field devoid of light and noise and the stone buildings that obstruct the horizon. Corona is a beautiful kingdom, but it is rare to view the stars with one’s very own eyes. This hidden world within the city is magical in-which how one could leave for but a mere moment, and be transported to another time. Another world.

Cassandra is almost distracted by the sheer magnitude of stars and constellations that she could have never seen on a normal evening.

She looks towards Varian, and once more, she sees his eyes—

They are blue, almost blindingly so. The curious streak in his hair…it is glowing. She is well accustomed to magical hair that she _shouldn’t_ question this, but—

Only the princess is known to possess hair with magical properties.

She had never heard of a boy with the same gifts.

“Varian, I didn’t get to ask last time, but your hair and eyes—” Cassandra interrupts.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” His gaze is directed towards the starry night sky, and for a moment, he looks to be completely at peace. “Dad hated it when I’d leave the house, but he also despised my experiments.”

“He hated my lab, he…hated me.” Varian is cheerful, sickeningly so, but Cassandra’s voice hitches in her throat.

“It’s fine, though. Varian…he hated himself most of all.”

_Wait, Varian?_

“But, you’re Varian,” Cassandra says, weakly. It is a lame retort, she knows this. But, she is out of her element, which is a feeling she had come to know ever since she had met Varian all those days ago.

“That’s right, _Cassandra_.” He is smiling, but he seems angry. There is a certain bite to his tone, and she knows that this, whoever he is…

“You’re not…you can’t be Varian. Just _who_ are you?” She is worried and conflicted and so, so confused. Whatever he says next, she knows that it cannot be good.

He seems almost transparent with only the light of the starry night sky to illuminate him. His voice is sickeningly sweet, but his words stab into her heart like ice. “Oh, forgive me if I made a mistake. It’s been so long since I’ve been alive.”

“You’re correct. I’m not Varian, but I’m muuuuch better than he could ever hope to be.” Varian, or not Varian…he steps closer towards Cassandra. Their world is completely silent save for the sound of wind gently blowing through grass. Curiously, the chrysanthemums are still ever-present.

“This is insane,” Cassandra half-yells. Her beloved sword is clutched in her hands, but she does not know what to do. If this person is not who she thought him to be…

If he is not _alive_ , well, there is little a sword can do to stop a ghost, or something not of this realm.

“Tsk, tsk, there’s no need to look at me like that,” not (?) Varian casually reprimands. “I didn’t do anything to him.”

Cassandra knows this has to be a lie.

“No, it’s not a lie,” he lightly chuckles. “If he doesn’t want this life, I’ll take it.”

His eyes are blue, blue, much too blue. He looks so much like the Varian she knew, but it is a falsehood. Whatever this thing is, he is wearing Varian’s face. He may look and sound like him, but they are not one and the same.

“Unlike Varian, I won’t be a disappointment. I’m the version of him that won’t screw up everyone’s lives.” He says, voice chipper and sunny. Cassandra almost wishes she were back in the castle. It had been boring and monotonous, but there, her life made sense. It had a semblance of order, but here? At this very moment, she was lost.

“Afterall, I’m not the one who encased his own father in amber,” the imposter calmly states, all facts and reason. “Varian killed his dad. He deserves punishment. He knows this, and this is where _I_ come in.”

“If he truly loved his dad and just _listened_ , none of this would have happened.”

She wants to yell, she wants to shout at him…there is much too wrong with this, but Cassandra knows that Varian is a stranger to her. How does she know if anything he has said this whole time was true?

“But, if there is one positive to be gleaned…I wouldn’t be here, speaking with you, Cassandra.” Varian or not Varian…he is too calm. His cheerful person has now been dropped as he glares at her in contempt.

Everything about this situation, is illogical. Regardless of the circumstances, she knows Varian needs help.

“This…is insane. What did you do with the real Varian?” she questions. Her voice is strong, but she feels herself going weak.

“He’s still here, but not for long,” not Varian says. “Or maybe he was never here at all. It’s hard to tell with him.”

Cassandra wants to ignore everything that he is saying, but it is impossible.

“His life is as fleeting as a sunny spring day,” Varian or not Varian says. He is wearing his face, but there is much too wrong with his words, him, everything. Varian or not Varian…his posture is straight, and his face is much too calm and yet, contemptuous.

He seems confident and self-assured, which is everything that Varian is not.

But Cassandra, she does not understand this. Her ears are ringing. She does not know what to do, but all she wants in that very moment is for her semblance of reality to return. Before realizing it, she lunges at the impostor.

Cassandra’s sword is unsheathed, and in a sense of déjà vu, she has her sword pressed against Varian’s throat.

No, _it’s not him_ , she tells herself.

“Give. Him. Back.” Cassandra says through grit teeth.

“You’re getting awfully worked up over someone you met less than a week ago,” Varian or not Varian…whoever this person is supposed to be, laughs cruelly and harshly. “But, if you want to kill him, go right ahead!”

The air is cold and frigid, but Cassandra cannot feel any of it. The ghost is harsh and everything that Varian is not. “You’ll never know ‘which’ one of us you really killed in the end, but you can brag that you’ve murdered the ghost of Old Corona.”

Cassandra is silent. Her voice had left her, and the ghost….why, he is the picture of glee.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he cheerfully remarks.

“Good night, Cassandra.”


	5. Fear Not, My Wayward Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Mild blood, suicidal thoughts, emotional abuse, body horror

Only the flickering light of a tallow candle illuminates the otherwise dark room. The sun had long since set, with only long dead stars and the full moon to paint the night sky. Shadows cast forth from the plethora of books stacked precariously one after the other in an almost monstrous light. They seem large and foreboding; almost as if…they are looming over the single lone figure hunched over a tome.

Cassandra stifles a yawn, eyes long gone bleary from spending the majority of the day reading. She had not known what exactly it was she was searching for, but from the moment she woke up she immediately descended to the library. Books on the occult, curses, anything that she could grab—she figured she could find the answers she needed, but alas, her efforts were of no avail.

Instead, all she had achieved was a growing migraine and a feeling of disappointment. She would have chalked up the alchemist’s behavior to anything more…mundane. Cassandra knows herself to be a logical woman, or, well, this is what she tells herself. That alchemist with the strange looking goggles, she would have thought him to be not of sound mind.

But, don’t get her wrong. He definitely is not quite there, though she’d be a bit too unwilling to admit that she, herself, may have made some less than ideal decisions. She shouldn’t involve herself with the macabre. Heaven knows she’s already more than entangled in enough magic to last her ten lifetimes.

She sighs and blows out the candle. As she watches the smoke gradually rise up from the burnt wick, realization dawns on her. Every single odd happenstance that had happened within these last few days had all originated from the alchemist.

The red chrysanthemum flowers…she had followed, and they led her to _him_. And these days, they had felt much too fast. Much too…unreal. Actually, had Cassandra even seen anyone else this whole time? Sure, she had seen Rapunzel, Eugene, and even Friedborg, but as for everyone else……

There was barely a soul both inside the castle and out within Corona’s more touristy areas. For all intents and purposes, she was alone.

Soft light from the moon bathes the library in a soft glow, but as Cassandra looks up, she can’t help but note how…ominous it looks.

_How many days has it been a full moon?_

It’s been four days, Cassandra tells herself. However, that cannot be right. A full moon is supposed to last for about three days at most, so why is it still here?

Immediately, Cassandra gets up. The wooden chair had clattered to the ground, but she is already fast on her feet. Slamming the door shut, Cassandra ventures out to find the alchemist.

Usually it would be pretty silly to expect to find a single person with no means of communication, especially on a night as dark as this. But, nothing about the alchemist is what she’d call normal.

The rocks, the flowers, the full moon, _everything_ ties back to Varian.

If she wants answers, she will have to find the alchemist. Though, Cassandra does not know if he even knows what the problem may be.

\---

“Fancy seeing you here again, Cassandra.” Varian, or not Varian. This person wearing his face, they are staring up at the full moon with a demure smile on his— _their_ face. He’d almost look peaceful, were it not for the fact that their eyes and hairstreak were once again glowing a soft, light blue.

The air had been sapped from her lungs, and all sound had bled away from the background.

_This is it_ , Cassandra tells herself. She is in the presence of something old (?) and not quite of this earth. She wants to yell, she wants to hide, but if she does not confront this creature wearing the alchemist’s face as a mask, who knows if she will ever return back to her sense of normality?

She takes in a deep breath. “Not going by Cassie, are you?”

Not Varian laughs, but it somehow does not seem as harsh and grating with this person. Could they be different from whomever she had spoken to the previous night? “I hardly think I’d need to keep up this silly charade. Listen, Cassandra, we don’t have much time, but—”

“Why are you going through all of this effort for Varian?”

Cassandra freezes as the unanswered question still lingers. _Why does this person care what she does?_ They are dead, but she is alive. A ghost should not concern themselves with the living, or even with someone on the precipice of life and death.

Still, she can’t deny that a small part of her might even care. Perhaps she’ll humor this ghost for a short while and see if they can be of some help. “I…guess he’s not so bad to be around?”

“Okay, listen, I don’t do ‘talks’ or sharing _feelings_.” She should say more, but not with that ghost looking at her so expectantly. Their blue eyes seem so full of life. There is humor to be found in how a deceased person wearing what may as well be a corpse is more ‘alive’ than the actual living, breathing alchemist.

“Please take this seriously, Cassandra. It’s very important.” The placid smile not Varian had worn has now melted from their face, only to be replaced by a stern frown.

Cassandra sighs. She pushes the alchemist to the side [trusting that this ghost at least, is not capable of harming her], and plops down on the bench. “I feel sorry for the kid. He’s like my little brother in a way, but nowhere near as annoying.”

She looks away, eyes landing on a single red chrysanthemum blossom. “Well, then I have some good _and_ bad news for you.”

“Oh, joy,” Cassandra says flatly.

The ghost, sounding more like who Varian should be, looks so tired and much older than the alchemist’s actual age.

“The bad news is that Varian needs some sort of connection…anything at all, to keep him tethered to this life. If he fails to establish this, he will soon cease to exist.”

Cassandra blinks. That…is _a lot_ more than she expected.

“Maybe we keep visiting Corona every evening since Varian was drawn to it…” Not Varian is calm and serene. Though, there is a certain confusion in their voice. “But, if the reason is in Corona itself or something more, I do not know.”

“We may wear the same face, but we don’t share one mind,” Varian, no, the ghost, concedes. “Well, the others may have, but I’d like to give him some privacy. I stay away from his thoughts if I can help it.”

“Okay…” Cassandra is ridiculously confused, but what else is new? This is her life now.

“What’s the good news?”

“I’ll make sure you’ll have the opportunity to meet the ‘true’ Varian tomorrow.” The full moon is still bright, dazzlingly so, but Cassandra can’t help but notice how not Varian’s eyes resemble the moon. It’s eerie, and…makes him seem ethereal. “If you want to save Varian, I’d advise you to learn more about Varian. His family, likes, dislikes, or—”

“Where he lives…Old Corona,” Cassandra says. “Sure, but…why are _you_ doing all of this for me?”

There is a long pause, and finally—

‘Varian’ speaks.

“It’s been fourteen years since I’ve last been alive, but my feelings remain as strong as ever,” they quietly respond. Their expression is quiet, reserved, unreadable.

The ghost’s hands, Varian—they are clasped, as if in a silent prayer. There are tears falling from their eyes, but they are smiling, almost pleadingly, at Cassandra. Their smile is shaky, but otherwise, full of resolve. “Call it a selfish wish, but I’d very much like for him to live.”

“As you can tell, Varian can see, hear, and speak with the dead,” not Varian relays. “Perhaps this is because half of our family hails from a land of ash and decay. A cursed, wretched ground shrouded in perpetual darkness.”

“The _Dark_ _Kingdom_ , much like Old Corona, is a land populated by the spirits of the deceased. This is certainly not the first time Cassandra has felt this way, but now, she truly realizes the gravity of her situation. All of this—it is bigger than Varian, than her…the _Dark_ _Kingdom_?

She had never heard of them, so why is it…there is a strange, cold familiarity in that name?

“It could be the haunted souls of the Dark Kingdom are attracted to him as he may quite possibly be one of their last remaining descendants.” Whoever this unknown ghost is, whatever they really want with her or Varian, how is it…she can really, truly trust their words?

The dead lie.

But, so do the living.

Cassandra does not want to, but she figures…she can trust them. There is nothing more that she has left to lose.

“Or, maybe it’s…something else.” The ghost breaks her train of thought. “Something…more……but, I hope we’ve made the right choice in relying on you, Cassandra.”

“Don’t disappoint us,” Varian, they, says. Who should she not disappointment? The ghost wearing the alchemist’s face? Varian? Herself?

“Please, don’t disappoint us,” they say, voice soft and timid. “Please, please, fulfill this selfish request of mine.”

“Even he deserves a second chance, I think.”

There are many things Cassandra could say, but this one question. This one mystery has burrowed deep into her mind.

“Who are you?” Cassandra says.

“I…don’t remember.”

Everything about this, it is very wrong.

The two—living and dead, they continue to sit in silence. The night is long and cold and dark, and Cassandra feels very alone.

\---

Varian does no know who this strange, blue girl is, but he knows there is something off about her. While she seems pleasant enough, there is an inherent darkness behind her pleasant demeanor and smile—which is much too wide on her face.

“What do you want with Cassie?” He was never one who attracted the companionship of others, but there was something about the swordswoman that seemed approachable. She was cold, but—

It was more of a reaction than he’d ever received in his life.

The girl looks at him, smiling. Her head…she shifts and it is now almost completely detached from her neck, with only a few sinews of skin and translucent veins holding it in place. “It’s not about what I want from her, but what she can do for me, no, _us_.”

“Foolish little boy,” she says. They are standing on a platform atop a sea of purple. Varian looks down, over the rocky precipice, and sees the skeletal visage of what appears to be people clawing their way to the rock slab.

Their faces are charred and indistinguishable, but they are contorted into ghastly expressions. It is clear they are in immeasurable pain, but the strange, enchanted girl looks at them in boredom.

She brings her foot down on the disfigured hand of one of the phantoms that made it up to the stone.

“Don’t mind them,” she says, voice pleasant. “They’re loud, but absolutely harmless.”

“But, I don’t understand. Who _are_ you?” Varian is tired of this. He wants to go home, he wants to wake up, but…he also wants to get answers.

Cass is involved with this girl—she is in way over her head, and Varian wants to save her.

“Like I’ve said before, I’m a friend—”

_No, that cannot be right._

Varian can see it in her eyes, in her stance. This peculiar, blue ghost girl, who appeared to him out of nowhere…she is to not be trusted. He should have seen it before with how she offered him salvation, but with no sense of reason in sight.

Everything this girl has said are nothing more than empty promises.

He looks at her, closely, and—he sees a flicker of _something_ …

For but a mere moment, the girl seems impossibly tall. He swears he could see shiny, shadowy black horns protruding from her head and red, red, _red_ eyes, but he blinks and…there is nothing.

The bead’s around the girl’s head jangle slightly as she tilts her barely attached head in concern, but, is it really?

“You’re… _Zhan Tiri_.”

“Ah, I always knew you were a brilliant child.” Her concerned face morphs to mockery. “Even a hollow vessel such as yourself can’t overwrite intelligence.”

Varian pauses. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

“Why would I do that?” Zhan Tiri laughs, cold, harsh voice resonating throughout the strange, cold, eerie dream-like realm of purple and black stone. “The cat’s out of the bag, and…a demon never lies.”

“Is this hell?” Varian can’t help but ask. Those screaming, charred figures…had they been cast aside by Zhan Tiri? Is he next?

“We’re in the in-between,” she says. She rips off her semi-detached head. It rolls off the stone platform. Varian strains his ears, but he cannot hear it impact with the ground below…if there even is solid ground for it to reach.

“I’m not here for you soul.” He wants to look away as muscle, blood, and sinew carefully form over her newly grown skull. It is a ghastly sight, but he cannot look away. “But, I do need your help. You have part of the moonstone, so by all intents and purposes, we are forever bound.”

“Do you want a normal life?” Zhan Tiri says.

“Yes. More than anything.” He knows she can offer nothing but empty promises and lies as sweet as honey, but he finds himself answering.

Her laugh is harsh and melodious. “Is that so?”

“Well, it’s a shame I can’t make miracles.”

Varian visibly deflates. She is a liar, a trickster, a demon, but…what was the point of all this?

_Then why did she bother to ask me?_

“I do feel for you, I truly do,” she says. Her newly grown face is inches away from him, but her eyes are still white and devoid of pupils. “Poor little moondrop. Your dad thought you were crazy. Had it not looked bad on him, he would have sent you off to an asylum at the first opportunity.”

“Of course, as the chief of a village, he could not.” The girl smiles, but her words cut into Varian like a knife. “Your poor dad. He could have gotten rid of you at anytime, but he still kept you.”

“—Ungrateful brat that you were.”

He wants to stop her, but…he knows this to be true.

“Because of you, your father is dead,” she says, voice cheery. “Do you know why he could never look at you? Why he could never speak or even stay in the same room as you—his own son? His very flesh and blood?”

_No, I—_

“Varian, son of Quirin. Your own mother left as soon as you were born because she could not bear to stand the sight of you.” The incessant moans and shrieks of horrible, charred figures below the platform are ever present, but Varian can hear not one of them.

“As long as you possess the moonstone, not one soul with a connection to you will know salvation or peace.”

Varian…does not know what to say. He is at a loss for words, but he knows this all to be true.

“Unfortunately, you are the moonstone,” the blue, transparent demon lightly admonishes. “Til’ death do you part, as humans say.”

“These black stones—they all grow and plague the land because you are alive.”

Varian is silent for a long while. “So, if…I want these black rocks gone, I……need to die?”

“You’re getting the hang of this quickly! But that’s to be expected from a mind as brilliant as yours.” The strange, blue girl, Zhan Tiri, beams up at him. “Are you disappointed? Sad?”

“No, I’m not.” And for once, with absolute certainty, Varian is being honest with himself.

“Perfect,” Zhan Tiri grins. “I knew you would see reason, moondrop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local blueberry ghost haunts a sad alchemist because she's jealous he gets to be the Moon's humansona.


	6. Will you Light a Candle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a rumor of a cemetery by a pond in the next town over that is haunted by a demon.
> 
> I'm sure Zhan Tiri is worse.
> 
> WARNINGS: Body horror, suicidal thoughts and actions, abuse.

Despite popular belief, Varian was not a wizard. Neither was he superstitious or prone to flights of fancy, but his affinity towards explosions and general mayhem had done little to help his already deteriorating reputation.

So, maybe he had said too much. Or maybe his problem was that he had said too little. He could handle the whole world despising his very existence, but dad—

_That_ , he did not even want to think about.

Varian sighs. He knew looking through his dad’s personal possessions…artifacts that he had kept from times long before he was born was…not ideal, to phrase it mildly. He knew he was a terrible son. A horrible person. It was no excuse, but his curiosity had been piqued. There was so very little he knew about his dad. So many secrets that had been kept from him.

His dad said he would reveal to him the meaning behind that mysterious chest hidden away with the wall once he was of age, but…if Varian were to be honest, he doubted that day would ever come.

Had it not been for those charred, faceless amalgamations of limbs that walked as if they were marionettes pioneered by an unseen puppet master, he would have never known. Varian would only ever see them around his home. Or…he would have kept his mouth shut this whole time.

Sometimes, these unknown facsimiles of life would follow his father. Occasionally, he’d see them standing at the end of the hall or at the foot of his own bed. But constantly, he knew—they almost seemed to gravitate towards _him_. Varian had once thought them to be golems, but those hopeful thoughts of his were soon laid to rest.

Desperately, Varian wanted to ignore them. To continue with his life as it should be. Though, Varian knew this to not be the case. He was too inquisitive for his own good. Children should be seen, not heard, as his father often said.

And yet, he never could keep quiet.

He had tried his very best to ignore them, as they spoke to him through wheezes and raspy breathes. All it took to get them to leave was to ignore them, or so he told himself. Truth be told, even with years of experience, he could never fully overcome his wicked desire to speak with them.

There were very few with this opportunity to speak with those beyond the veil. Truthfully, he did not know if he, himself, was of sane mind, but—

Nothing truly sinister had come from these macabre visions.

Varian was viewed as foreign to those who knew him, but every shortcoming and hardship that had befallen him was all due to him. Not…whatever it was that he was seeing. And certainly _not_ his dad.

It was when he was burrowed in his lab that he could veritably converse with those unseen, burnt figures. Among the confines of his underground sanctum, the scent of decaying, charred flesh could be masked with beakers and chemicals. Only here, could Varian feel…less dead. In his lab, it was only there that he could feel at peace.

Normally, it was not he who would speak to them. He would listen to their pleas and garbled lamentations, but never would he directly address them. It would be one thing for him to listen, but another to acknowledge their existence.

To speak was to admit to his short failings.

It was his fault that he could see them. He did not know how or why, but…it was the absolute truth. And the only truth he had ever known.

He stares at the vial of orange liquid in his hand. With this formula, he will be able to fix the problem with the black rocks. Or, well, get a head start on figuring out the secrets and mystique surrounding those sharp, jagged death traps.

Ruddiger, bless that raccoon, is…nowhere in sight. There is a pang of sorrow in his heart, but he pushes it aside. As loyal and wonderful as his raccoon is, he always avoided the lab when _they’d_ appear.

Perhaps it was why Ruddiger was the only friend he had. He could see what others could not.

For a brief moment, he considers what would happen if he were to consume the chemical. He does not want to die, but maybe……

Nothing.

It does no good to have such thoughts. It is another indicator of how terribly broken he is. His hand instinctively clutches at his wrist. The thick leather of his gloves is enough to protect skin, but the damage has already been done.

No longer can he concentrate—not when there are so many questions running amok in his head.

  
To be frank, it definitely does not help with those…gaunt, burnt figures. The scent of scorched wood is overwhelming, as much as he’d try to ignore it. He has had enough for one day and would desire for nothing more than to be rid of them, but this is his lot in life.

“Why won’t they leave,” Varian mutters. He shoots them a dark look, but they seem unperturbed.

He slams the glass vial onto the hardwood table. Fortunately, it does not crack, but the sound had somehow aggravated the scorched, shadowy figures that haunt his dreams and reality.

_“—Ira.”_

There is one impossibly tall figure. It looms over the work table, over Varian. At its full height, Varian suspects he would surpass the ceiling in an already cavernous work area. With the figure hunched over, it merely…seems pathetic. And terribly small, in an odd, sorrowful way.

_“—Dira,”_ it says again. Varian has to strain his ears to hear. Its voice is so terribly faint.

He has heard that name before. Or, he thinks he has.

_“Adira.”_

_“Adira, Adira, Adira—”_

Finally, that is their name. _Adira_. He is sure this tall, frayed, singed figure is not Adira…whoever that person is. This brittle shadow is something else entirely.

“Who is Adira?” Varian asks. His work on the black rocks now sit abandoned.

_“Find. Her,”_ the shadow rasps. _“Brotherhood.”_

Brotherhood…? What…does a ‘brotherhood’ have to do with any of this? With the scorched, impossibly tall figure, or…him.

He was just Varian.

_“Help,”_ it says again. Pleadingly. _“Help…”_

He wants to ask more. Who is this ‘Adira’? Who exactly needs help? Adira or the figure? And what is the importance of a Brotherhood…?

One moment, and the figures disintegrates…as if they had never been there at all. Perhaps they hadn’t.

Maybe Varian had been alone this whole time.

He was certainly used to it.

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly jumps as he hears a resounding crack resonate beyond the stone walls of his lab. Curiously, Varian glances towards the window and sees that it is indeed nightfall.

_Dad’s home._

With a start, Varian darts out of the lab—past the fleeting imprints of specters that haunt his home, past doors upon doors of rooms he has never seen, and….

There he is.

“Welcome home, dad.” Varian wants to smile. He wishes for his voice to show some semblance of emotion. But, as his only companions are a raccoon and the ‘unknown’, there is only so much that he can express. There is so much that he would like to say, but most of all, he wishes his dad would exchange more than a single word with him.

“Son.” Quirin’s eyes are averted from his own, almost as if Varian were not even in the room. He hastens his pace and attempts to widen the distance between him and Varian, but before he can—

Varian breaks the silence. _It’s now or never._

“Dad, who is Adira?” Quirin freezes. It is only for a split second, but Varian wishes he did not see it.

Strangely, a striking thought crosses his mind. “Is Adira…mom’s name?”

Quirin audibly breaks out of his veneer of indifference. “What, no—where did you hear that name from?”

Varian wants to cry. This…it is the most his dad has spoken to him for as long as he could remember. He is happy, but why are his tears falling? “Just, tell me. Dad, who are they? Who is Adira?”

His eyes narrow down at him. Sternly, he says, “There is no Adira.”

“But, dad, what about the Brotherhood—”

“There is no Brotherhood. And do not ever mention that name in this house.” He is towering over Varian. “Understand?”

Varian wants to disappear. To shrink, to disappear. He feels numb. His hand reaches for his wrist, but no. He can’t. “I need to know, they told—”

“Who told you?”

Varian averts his eyes. “I, nevermind.”

He can’t tell Quirin. He’d never believe, and so, Varian runs.

“Varian, tell me.” Quirin grips Varian’s wrist, but if he sees the slight flinch or tremor in his arms, he does not say anything. “Who told you?”

“It was nothing.” He wants to leave. This was a bad idea from the start.

“Varian,” Quirin says, unwavering. “How many times have I told you to stay away from those rocks?”

“Many times, sir.”

“And have you ever listened?” he says. Varian knew he’d disappoint his father again. It’s all he has ever done.

“So, how would I believe you again? Whoever told you that, whatever you may have seen, ignore them,” he says, harshly. “You know they aren’t real.”

“Yes, sir.” Quirin finally lets go of his wrist and walks off.

Varian collapses onto the floor, unseeing and uncaring of…anything, really. Truly…he is not bothered. He cannot be sad when everything that had happened today was his fault. Because of him, his father was mad. His life is that of a tragedy of misfortune orchestrated by him, but he should be content.

His vision is blurry, and the ground…it seems almost comforting. He will disappoint his dad, surely, if he sleeps here.

But, if he closes his eyes for a few minutes, it…

He’ll be up soon enough.

Before he is consumed by sleep, he hears a sharp, childish voice. There is laughter. It should be harmless, but there is a malicious edge to it.

_Where have I heard that voice before?_

\---

“Huh, where am I?”

Disoriented, Varian looks around the room. The sky is bright and lively and blue, but as they reflect off of the black rocks scattered throughout the land outside of his room, Varian realizes that…he has somehow made it back. He is in Old Corona, but it raises the question of how he had arrived there in the first place.

He last remembers that surprisingly kind woman. Her name, wasn’t it Cassandra? She had saved him from that ledge…he could have fell……

Though, a sizeable part of his mind knows that he _should_ have fallen. He does not know how exactly he arrived back here…he has retained bits and pieces of memory from his dreams, but he is otherwise…at a loss.

He should be happy that he has made it back to Old Corona. Afterall, his father is here, but…why is it that he feels…hollow?

No, that wouldn’t be the correct word. It would be more like, apprehensive.

There is a certain chilling discomfort to remaining within the same vicinity of a suspended corpse encased in a tomb of amber, except, that is not true. Quirin is not dead. He is merely sleeping, but anyway—

Everything that has happened here is his fault. Varian tells himself that he has no right to complain. He should still feel grateful to be alive to at least…fix his mistakes.

“I’ll make you proud.” As he gets up, he realizes he has not eaten…actually, he cannot remember when the last time he had consumed a full meal was. He should eat, but strangely, he does not feel happy.

If he were to be honest with himself, he feels nothing.

“Don’t push yourself too hard now, moondrop.”

_That voice…I’ve heard it before……_

Perched upon the windowsill was…a translucent girl. She hadn’t been there before, but…he wasn’t going to question anything at this point. Childishly swinging her legs back and forth, she seemed harmless enough.

Memories flooded back. The rocks, that hellish world of purples and greens, Cassandra, those dreams…

“Zhan Tiri, you’re…here……”

“Ah, glad you still remember me,” she smiles brightly at him. “That’ll make this easier much easier. I so do hate repeating myself.”

He should feel something in the presence of a being as ancient and terrifying as Zhan Tiri. In the guise of a nobleman’s child, she…should have seemed more approachable. But, if anything, her veneer of kindness was extremely intimidating. He almost wished for her to sport the typical ram horns and sharp fangs that demons are usually more known for. If his father knew there was a devil in the house, well, he’d be even more disappointed in him, which would be a surprising feat. Afterall, he was already a huge disappointment.

“You do remember what we agreed upon, right?” Zhan Tiri is all smiles, but he knows there is an underlying madness behind her kind gaze.

_Yes, I do remember……_

Varian looks towards the windowsill. A sense of calmness washes over him as he takes one step after the other until he is standing mere inches away from Zhan Tiri.

“I have to die,” he says. Varian is…happy. He is smiling, but…it is hollow. Not quite there. If he dies, these rocks, they’ll all be gone. His dad will be safe, but what would his reaction be when he wakes up—

—Only to find him shattered into pieces after he has fallen towards the earth?

What would he say?

He hopes Quirin does not mourn him.

“Good, good, glad we’re on the same page,” the tiny, blue demon responds. She is staring wide-eyed at Varian, grin still reaching from ear to ear. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m going to jump.”

Varian is surprised.

The demon girl laughs. It is a callous and cruel sound. But, it is not her laughter that surprises him. No, it is her rebuttal.

“No you’re not,” she sings, voice crisp and airy. “Not here, not now. Not in this time or place, but soon…at least. You see, we’ve got a small trip to make.”

He is undeniably stunned. He is still standing, unmoving from his spot. His hand is still gripping the stone walls of the windowsill and Zhan Tiri…she is still smiling that kind, cruel mask on her face.

“My dear moondrop, don’t be so eager. You cannot die yet,” she says. “There is still much to be done.”

“When will I die?” Varian cannot help but ask.

“In due time,” Zhan Tiri responds patiently. “As the moondrop, there are…certain criteria to our plans. I will explain them soon enough, but look outside, dear moondrop.”

“You have a guest.”

Varian looks past the window.

Outside, he sees…the swordswoman.

She seems tired, haggard, but otherwise, completely resolute. There are black rocks…all of them large and omnipresent. Within the light of the blue, blue, blue sky, they seem terribly foreboding. They are stone giants that have invaded their land, but, it seems……

Varian’s eyes widen.

The black rocks…they are pointed towards the swordswoman.

“Cassie,” he calls out.

But it is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure how I feel about Quirin. I understand how incredibly difficult it is to be a single parent, but he was way too dismissive of Varian back then. I'm sure he loved his son [he wouldn't have saved him from the amber, otherwise], but he never really struck me as a particularly good father to Varian. I do like their father-son relationship later on down the line, but I do wonder how it turned out that way.
> 
> Also, it's going to get much darker from here on out, folks! I'm really looking forward to the next chapter; it might be out in two or three days.


	7. ...And Say My Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Major character injury, suicidal thoughts and actions, depictions of death.

Cassandra will be run through with the black rocks. Her life will be snuffed out, and Varian knows he is powerless to stop them. Connected as he may be to the barrage of deadly rocks, he is not the key to their control. They are an enigma. Completely unfathomable, and above his understanding. He is sure this glint of knowledge—whatever he must know in-order to absolve the land of these deadly obtrusions, will forever be out of his grasp.

Even if his room within the prison he had once considered a safe home, a sanctuary…even if it had not been as high as it was, he would not make it to her in time. In a way, this room that he had known for the entirety of his life—he imagines this is what the previously lost princess had felt. This stone and mortar dwelling of which he resides in—the air is claustrophobic and constricting.

_Stop_ , he tells himself. He wants these rocks to halt and burrow themselves into the ground, perhaps to join the damned souls in that ‘netherworld’ he had seen in his dreams. And, speak of Zhan Tiri……

Varian turns hazy blue eyes towards her, and sees…Zhan Tiri, in all of her so-called ancient wisdom and terror, is _smiling_. But here, she is not even attempting to conceal her apparent euphoria and glee at the situation that has been laid out before her. The demon girl’s hands are clutched together, but Varian suspects this is merely due to her exhibiting some restraint. He is certain she would be jumping up and down with joy if she were tangible.

If he had to say it, with the way Zhan Tiri was eyeing Cass, it was akin to a child with their new toys. Or, maybe not quite that…nothing as innocent as merely the gift of a new threadbare doll. With her gleeful, fanged smile, she looked like the happiest person in the world. Though, in this time and place, she certainly _was_.

No, if anything, Zhan Tiri resembled a child who displayed a sadistic glee in burning ants with a magnifying glass, or perhaps, pouring salt onto snails.

She is terrifying, and so, Varian looks away. Zhan Tiri cannot help him…he is on his own.

He looks back towards Cassandra, and—

The rocks…they have stopped in their movement.

While his eyes were averted, Cass, kind, strong, reliable Cass, she had pulled out her sword in an attempt to ward off the imminent movement of the black rocks. Even in the face of absolute death, she refused to back down. Secretly, he wishes he could share the same sentiment. 

He respects her bravery, but what good would a sword have against impenetrable black rocks of unknown origins?

There is a glint of silver, and before he can blink, the tall, brunette woman swiftly swings the steel weapon. With a resounding clack, she hits the rocks with her sword. But, it immediately disintegrates upon contact.

Or, not so much disintegrate, if he is being honest. It is not quite as dramatic as that, but she reminds him so much of the characters he had adored from the _Adventures of Flynn Rider_. He figures Cassandra would never commit crimes of thievery such as the beloved adventurer, but she certainly is valiant.

The sword merely shatters upon impact.

Varian cannot see her face from his vantage point, but, he will not stand here and do nothing. He dashes out of the room, leaving behind the enchanted girl. Whatever game this is, he will not be Zhan Tiri’s pawn.

He was a fool to have believed her words…in his grief, in his anger, in his isolation and loneliness, he had for but a mere moment bought into her lies. They were as sweet and promising as honey, but that is all they merely were.

False hope promised by a demon who did not so much as care about the life of a single mortal soul.

He runs down the stairs, jumping over that one step that had never quite worked. The stairs creak underneath his feet, but he continues his descent before finally witnessing the first ray of sunlight from the outside world.

The sky is bright and sunny; it is truly a picturesque scene, which makes this current situation all the more frightening and…surreal. It is as if the world is not affected by the madness that has befallen this sleep little farming town. Though, of course it would not be—the world turns regardless of what may happen to those who live within it. It would be silly for it to be otherwise.

Off in the far distance, he sees her. Cass…miraculously, she is unscathed. He can tell with her stance that while flustered and perhaps angry, she is otherwise completely fine. Mentally and emotionally, he doubts she is well. No one, not ever Cass, could walk off a brush with death as sudden and cold as the black rocks. But, she is here—whole and safe. It is more than he could ever ask for, and the least that the older swordswoman deserves.

“Cass,” Varian calls out as he runs over towards her, careful of the discarded debris and sharp black rocks that have steadily been growing from the dirt ground for...he can no longer recall as to when they had started growing. Red chrysanthemums flowers are in full bloom across the fields. They had always been, as soon as that blizzard ended.

He should find the sight of crimson petals and blue skies a lovely sight, but they only remind him of what he has lost. Hopes, dreams, memories that will forever be out of his reach.

The crimson red petals dot the green pastures like blood sprayed across an empty canvas. With their abundance, it is almost as if they are a herald of death.

The scent of flowers is nigh indistinguishable to one of decayed flesh, but he has more pressing matters here.

“Cassie,” he yells again, voice loud and clear. It has been quite some time since he had felt the need to use his voice, but with Cassandra, he wants her to hear him. The feeling, as foreign as it may be, is not entirely welcome. In a sense, it is nice to feel wanted. Or, well, acknowledged.

Cassandra...is stunned. She swivels her head, short black curls pooling over her face. Never had she heard the alchemist shout, not even when he had not been himself.

He looks so unlike himself. Her eyes must be playing tricks on him, because there is a smile on his face. It is so faint that one who had never seen him before could swear that it is a frown. His lips are upturned slightly, but even after a moment, they still remain.

What had changed for him to look his age?

No, what had changed to make him seem more alive?

Though, who is she to tell if this ‘Varian’, who ran up the hill in-spite of these accursed black rocks is the true one?

Abruptly, she winces.

Looking down, she sees drops of blood have splattered the grass below her feet. The thought briefly crosses her mind...the blood droplets heavily resemble the chrysanthemums that adorn the abandoned village.

It is a sickening thought, and one that she is more than happy to ignore.

“You’re hurt,” Varian says, concern laced in his voice. Before she can stop him, he rips a small chunk from his worn brown apron. He lifts his one gloved hand towards her, and it takes Cassandra a moment to realize his intentions before relenting.

Carefully, he wraps the makeshift bandage around her arm.

“Thanks,” Cassandra says on reflex. Truthfully, she hadn’t even noticed the small wound with the adrenaline from encountering the black rocks.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not at all,” she mildly responds.

There is a silence. Ever present, and still just as uncomfortable even with everything that had happened.

Surprisingly, it is Varian that breaks the vicious cycle of emptiness.

“Why are you here?” Varian asks, still out of breath from his sprint. His eyes, normally so blue and empty, they...seem almost alive in the daylight. This, however, must be a mistake. For all she knows, it could be a trick of the lighting.

Words spill out of her mouth before she can catch herself.

“Which Varian are you?”

Just as quickly as the faint smile had crossed his face, it was wiped out in an instant. Cassandra almost regrets asking, but she refuses to be fooled by anymore ghosts or phantoms or whatever she had been speaking with this entire time.

“What,” Varian says softly. “What do you mean?”

She had not thought it to be possible, but Varian looks almost heart-broken.

Faintly, Cassandra realizes that perhaps she has said too much. He has been through too much in his short life. But—

One long look at the black rocks, crimson red flowers, and the dead, dead, much too dead yet alive boy is enough to strengthen her resolve.

Despite everything that...previous version of Varian had said, she still does not know anything. She is even more lost than she was when they had first met.

Cassandra is done with being nice. She does not want to hurt him, but, hell, she needs answers.

\---

The swordswoman is looming over him. She seems angry, livid, but Varian cannot blame her. He feels small. He wants to disappear and forget he had ever seen that look, but he deserves this. Every misfortune that had befallen Cassandra since they had first met has entirely been his fault.

“Just. Tell. Me.” Cassandra is done. She has absolutely no idea what has happened. All this time, she thought the black rocks were connected to Rapunzel. Her magical hair, her so-called destiny, but ever since Varian has appeared, he has been nothing more than a faulty cog in the wheel. All sense and normalcy had dissolved as soon as he stepped into her life. She wants to help him, but he is not her responsibility.

She was foolish to have thought she could help him when it may be possible that the lost, sad child she had saved all those days ago may no longer exist, if he ever did at all.

“Who are you?” Cassandra says, brows furrowed.

Varian blinks, perturbed. “I am me.”

“But, that doesn’t explain _anything_.” Cassandra is agitated. She is sure he understands, but yet, his words are of no value. “Tell me, _who are you supposed to be_?”

“I’m Varian,” he says. Cassandra, she looks angry. Has she always been like this or is it due to...him?

Cassandra narrows her eyes at the alchemist. It is not quite a look of hate or spite, but Varian does not like it either way. “How can you be so sure?”

“I....” He pauses.

“I don’t know,” Varian answers truthfully.

“Is there anything you like? Dislike? _Hate_?”

Another pause.

“I don’t know,” he responds, face expressionless.

“What _do_ you know?” Cassandra asks, huffing in a mixture of irritation and tiredness.

“I don’t know.” Varian...he does not know. He does not know anything...who he is, why all he has ever caused are failed inventions and disappointment, hell, nothing about him has ever bore a semblance of sense.

“I don’t know why I’m here, who I am—“

His voice shudders. “There’s…nothing at all.”

“I’m nothing.”

\---

_I’m nothing, he says._

She had wanted answers...anything, really, to have brought sense back into her world. But now, with how...so much like Varian he looks, perhaps he had been the ‘real’ one. Whoever she had spoken with yesterday, maybe they had been telling the truth.

Cassandra almost regrets asking him. For causing this much turmoil.

_But, are you really?_

_He has caused you so many problems._

_Had you not gone searching for him, you would not have nearly been impaled. Whatever guilt you may feel is not unfounded._

There is an incessant voice in her head. It is loud, ringing, incredibly unlike her own, and yet—the sentiments it shares are not unwarranted.

_Right_ , Cassandra tells herself.

_I have nothing left to lose._

She raises her hands in a placating manner, but his eyes are far off...hazy, dead, tired. Wherever it is he is staring, she feels as if that place would forever be out of her reach.

“Hey, listen kid—”

Cassandra’s heart leaps out of her chest. Before she could get a single word out, the alchemist, Varian...he had shoved her away.

Blue, blue, mockingly lifeless blue eyes that have always looked monotone even underneath the sunny blue sky; they are staring up at her. Cassandra’s breathe hitches, her words die down, she...had not meant for this to happen. She never wanted to hurt the alchemist; none of this is _her_ fault.

Blood is dripping from his mouth. This damned, irresponsible, suicidal, reckless child is smiling at her. He seems almost alive, and...it is disturbing, chilling, downright cruel to imagine, but she believes it.

In some sick, twisted, way, Varian had gotten his wish. Despite her efforts in saving him from that ledge, they had done nothing.

His death was prolonged, but for an even worse fate.

Varian is trembling, but he almost seems...happy. Blood is running down his chest from where a single, sharp, jagged black rock had pierced him.

_I had never meant for this to happen_.

Cassandra drops down to her knees, grief painted on her features.

_He’s dead, he’s dead, I—_

“I’m sorry, Cassie.”

The brunette woman’s eyes widen in surprise. His voice is faint, flickering, weak. There is a sharp, metallic sound that rings loud and clear in the bright green field.

A thump, and then...nothing.

She brings her eyes back to the scene, and there is Varian. He is slumped down on the ground, but he looks peaceful.

He is at peace, but that idea does little to comfort Cassandra.

\---

The air goes frigid with static. Varian hears it before he sees the rock—there is a sharp, chilling chime that resonates with the ground.

His feet move on impulse.

Cassandra...she will be impaled—

There is a loud, horrible tearing sound. His vision is filled with red, red, red, red—He looks down, and stares...a black rock with the sharpness of a long sword has embedded itself through his chest.

It is streaked with blood...his blood, and had he not been in shock he would surely be panicking.

Not...that he minded, of course. It was either him or Cassandra.

He tastes blood on his tongue. It is bitter, metallic. There is blood everywhere. His visions blurs. The scent of blood, the knife-like rock protruding through his chest, he knows that whatever happens, he will never make anyone proud.

A disappointment is what he has been. It’s fitting that his end is just as and disappointing and unfulfilled as his life.

The sharp rock retracts, and there it is. A shuddering breath, a painful gasp, and there. He is slumped on the ground.

As the last remaining portion of his energy is drained like the warm blood still dripping out of his chest, he is glad for one thing.

He may be ‘nothing’, but at least there was one good thing he has done in this life. Cassandra is safe. He did not kill her. With this thought in mind, a faint smile graces his lips.

Darkness is ebbing into his vision, and finally—

Varian lets go.

\---

Cassandra does not know how long she has been there, covered in blood...Varian’s blood, her mind traitorously is quick to remind her. She is certain it has not been more than a few minutes, but with blood rushing wildly in her head, it is hard to be sure.

It may have only been a few minutes, but it might as well have been an eternity.

Varian had always been quiet, but now, it is agonizing. The scent of blood overwhelms her senses.

He had saved her life, after everything she had said...everything she had done and not done.

She should have tried harder, but with what?

The answers that she had searched for died along with Varian. What...makes matters worse is that—

Varian, he had saved her. So why is it that Cassandra feels more remorse for what she had lost? She barely knew him; of course she wouldn’t feel much sadness. Sure, it was tragic that he had died so young, and in such a senseless way, but this was his choice. She never asked him to take that hit for her.

As she stares at Varian, kind, selfless, thoughtful, Varian, she...does not understand. She is not sad, Cassandra tells herself, eyes blurry. Hastily, she wipes tears from her eyes.

_I’m so sorry._

The silence is impenetrable, and the apology left unspoken.

_“Why should you be sorry, Cassandra?”_

A strangely familiar, high-pitched voice breaks the sickening silence that has permeated the field. Cassandra swears she can almost see frost coating the ground as the sun is consumed by dark, gray clouds.

Once lush and lively, the green pastures of Old Corona suddenly whittle away into nothing. While the grass becomes brittle and gray, peculiarly enough, the chrysanthemums are in full bloom. They seem brighter, more vivid, redder, as if...they are sapping life from every single living creature in proximity.

Cassandra’s head feels hazy, eyes, heavy. Eyelids, heavy. It is tempting to sleep and never wake up...to join Varian. He may have been alone, but now, in death, he does not have to be.

Her eyelids droop, and then—

There is a transparent, blue girl hovering above her. She is smiling, wide, jagged, all teeth. It is an unnerving sight, enough to jolt Cassandra out of your stupor.

“Who are you!?” Cassandra exclaims, voice slurred. She reaches for her sword, but...it is not there. Her sheathe is empty, useless, merely a decorative piece at this point.

“I’m a friend,” the girl says. She’d look so much a nobleman’s daughter were it not for the evil glint in her eyes. “Or, at least, I’d like to be.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Cassandra retorts, eyeing the ghost girl with disdain.

Shrugging, the blue girl merely offers Cassandra another grin in return, smile reaching from ear to ear.

“Then don’t,” the tiny ghost girl says.

“Leave.”

Cassandra freezes.

“Varian is not dead, at least, not yet,” she says in a light, airy manner. “I’ll save him, but on the condition that you leave and never bother us again.”

She wants to make a retort, anything, really, but it is as if her mouth had been sewn shut and her feet nailed to the ground.

“Listen, friend,” the ghost girl says, though Cassandra knows that this facade is nothing more than a lie.

“Varian and I still have matters to take care of.” The girl floats lightly, and the sky, it is still, terribly, terribly dark. “He cannot die. Not yet, at least.”

“You leave, and he will be saved.”

“How can I trust you?” Cassandra asks, voice weak.

“That’s just it. You can’t. But, is that a risk you’re trying to take?”

Cassandra looks back at Varian. Even with all the pain he had gone through and blood still pooling around him, he has still managed a smile. The sight is, she does not know how to describe it.

She does not trust this ghost child, but for Varian, this may be the only chance he has left.

“Deal.”

Cassandra knows she will regret this, but Varian was killed trying to save her. She will save him if it’s the last thing she ever does. Afterall, now—

She has nothing left to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapter titles for this fic are based on quotes/songs! Chapter 6 & 7 call back to Jason Webley's song, Pyramid, which was the weather for one episode of Welcome to Night Vale.
> 
> I wrote down the complete outline for this a while back, but I did not mean for it to get this angsty. This completely escalated out of control like gosh--it was supposed to be a short semi-horror story, but now...it is all pain and suffering. I wish I could say it gets better, but, Cass & especially Varian have a long road ahead. I had to get rid of the found family tag because this just completely swerved in tone.
> 
> If you want something with absolutely no angst, I wrote a fic yesterday about Varian & the Schnitz family plus...a chicken. Just the chicken.


	8. Dramatic Deaths Sell Well, Don’t They?

“I already did my part; give him back,” Cassandra says, eyeing the small blue girl as she floats over towards Varian. The alchemist is still bleeding out from where a black rock had punctured his chest, but Cassandra knows he will be fine. He…he has to be, right? There is a knife twisting itself into heart. If it’s from guilt or something else, she does not know. But seeing him, pale and nearly devoid of life—

Except, is it really? He’s always looked rather dead, but, no. Cassandra shakes the intrusive thoughts out of her head. This girl is her last hope; she’ll do whatever it takes to save him. “I don’t care about what else you need; just—he can’t _die_. Not here, not yet.”

“Oh, Cassandra, hasn’t your mother ever told you to not make promises you can’t keep?” The strange blue girl’s laugh rings hard and clear across the dilapidated clearing of black rocks and debris. With the shadows that have enveloped her face in the perpetual gloom that had befallen them, she almost seems demonic. In a certain light, her hair seems almost pointed, as if they are horns of some great, terrible ram. Her eyes seem almost red and glowing, but that is absurd. Cassandra blinks, and the girl is back to normal.

Mundane [for as much as a blue ghost girl can be considered ‘normal’], unassuming, transparent. There was nothing to worry about from this girl; she poses no danger. Or, this is what Cassandra tells herself. Perhaps in her panic, she had imagined the girl to be of greater consequence than she actually is.

Anyone could seem imposing if certain requirements are met.

“I don’t have a mother.” Her words seem almost harsh and grating in her ears, but again, such thoughts are absolutely ludicrous. She had long since come to terms that she had been abandoned, so why….?

“That explains it,” the girl says with a sly smile. There is an indescribable intonation in her voice, as if there is some great secret she is withholding. “Why else would you make a deal with a ghost?”

Cassandra’s eyes widen in surprised bafflement. She had her suspicions, but a ghost? Really? Sure, she knew Varian had been seeing ‘something’, but why her? Though, if she were to be honest with herself, this girl seemed almost _demonic_.

“You’re a ghost? Why can I see you?”

“Don’t play dumb, Cassandra.” She smiles at Cassandra, though there is a certain edge in how she stares at the woman. “We both know the reason for that, but—”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The ghost girl gestures towards Varian, and, right.

“Fix him,” Cassandra says, searching for the sword that she knows is not there. Even if it had been, she is well aware that a sword could not strike down a foe is not of flesh and blood.

“My, what a quaint way to phrase it,” the girl says, gathering red chrysanthemums into her hands. “I can’t fix what’s already broken, I’m afraid.”

Cassandra watches the blue girl in suspicion. A gnawing feeling has embedded itself into her mind, telling her to run, run as far away as she can. But, she cannot…not without Varian. Still, it is odd how a ghost can not only touch flowers, but pick them up. It may just be the gray haze of the sky that is affecting her vision, but there is something strange about this girl. The more that she has observed her, she has noticed that the girl appears to have become more tangible, while Varian—he looks as if he could fade away at a moment’s notice.

Cassandra looks down at her hands, and with a jolt, realizes that she too, has begun to fade away. Cautiously, she reaches for a single crimson chrysanthemum flower, but discovers—

Her hand completely phases through it.

“Pay them no mind, Cassandra,” the blue girl simply states as she plucks up one final chrysanthemum. “These flowers respond only to me. Please don’t take it to heart if my chrysanthemums haven’t taken a liking to you.”

“What do you mean _your_ flowers?” Cassandra attempts to pick another flower up, but much to her frustration, her hand has become more transparent.

“You really do ask so many questions,” the girl responds curtly, smile still wide. “I’m sure Demanitus would have taken a liking to you. This boy here is all the proof we need.”

“Yes, these are _my_ flowers,” the blue girl smiles, but this time, it seems almost sincere. She turns away and floats over to the alchemist. The blood has steadily come to a halt, but Cassandra can tell that nothing about his situation is ideal. “Humans say we’re the monsters, but you’re all difficult and unfathomable. It’s why I prefer nature. Flowers, trees, grass—”

“Even _blizzards_ , they’re easier to comprehend than you.” Cassandra leans forward. The girl’s voice has whittled down to a whisper, but more importantly, there…is something different about her. A change, or, what, she does not know. The blue girl is an enigma.

“Or, maybe that’s not true,” the blue girl says. “Our little Demanitus, I can understand. His wants, dreams, fears. But you…why do you want to save him?”

Cassandra is silent. “Because…I want to?”

“You sound so much like Demanitus,” the girl says softly, still facing away from Varian. “I never understood him, either.”

There is a pause, a quell in the conversation they had both undertaken. The blue girl is silent, but there is a solemnity in her actions as she carefully places the bouquet of chrysanthemum flowers she had gathered onto the alchemist’s chest.

Cassandra wants to ask what it is that she is doing, but her voice hitches in her throat. The flowers…they appear to be glowing a vivid red, as if they are absorbing spilled blood. She wants to protest, but then, she notices—the alchemist has gradually returned to his olive skin tone, and she can see that he has once again begun to breathe.

_What did you do_ , Cassandra wants to ask.

As if sensing Cassandra’s apprehension, for once, the ghost girl regards her in kind. There is no incomprehensible, cryptic agenda hidden in her voice. “We both are alike, in a way. Cassandra, you do know chrysanthemums are used in funerals?”

Cassandra nods. “Yes, he told me that.”

_It feels as if she had heard that was eons ago._

“Perhaps you’ll be surprised to know…these flowers have been following him as we are forever linked,” the girl smiles, grimly. “Though, I thought chrysanthemums would be fitting for him.”

“Wait, what do you mean—”

“Tell me, Cassandra, what do you think happens after death?” the sky has gradually began to lighten, but…the girl and Varian, they are both fading.

Cassandra looks at her hands, and sees that instead, she is becoming more corporeal. Solid, tangible, of this world. “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” the ghost girl responds, mouth curved into a slight frown. “But, the next time we meet, I’m sure we’ll both discover what is beyond the veil.”

She looks down towards the alchemist, still injured, but no longer bleeding. He will live to see another day, but suddenly, she remembers their deal. Wherever his journey may be, Cassandra will not be there to see it with him. How…how can she trust this girl to keep her promise?

“About our deal….” Cassandra says, brows furrowed. “Why can I not see him ever again?”

The girl sighs, eyeing Cassandra in a condescending manner reminiscent of…she cannot remember. “Oh dear, is that what you thought?”

“I said you must leave and never bother us again,” the ghost girl patronizingly chides. “Never have I said you could not see him in the future.”

“That…is the same thing.”

By now, the sky has reclaimed its original sunny, blue hue. “The next time we see each other, Corona will be in ruins.”

There is a heaviness on her shoulder, and Cassandra realizes, her sword…it has returned. She reaches to unsheathe it, but by then, it is too late. Her eyelids grow heavy, and as the last of her consciousness seeps away, there is a voice in her head. Loud, clear, and grating.

“Don’t worry about our bargain,” the girl’s voice resonates into the ether. “The moondrop and I are linked. As long as our connection remains, he will be free from harm.”

“But, when that day comes—”

“When Corona becomes enveloped in brimstone and fire, only then we will all be free to pass on.

Cassandra wants to speak, to say anything, but she is so, so tired.

“Until then, Cassandra.”

\---

“Momma, momma, look at what I made for you!”

There is an ache in her heart as she watches the woman she had once known all those years ago step out of their home and out of her life.

_Away from her_ …she has realized long ago.

Except…she had never known her. She has never seen this woman.

Cassandra looks into a mirror, or, at least attempts to. As she observes the tidy, bright, homey room, she is quick to notice that everything is so tall and big. She had never been the tallest person in the room, but this…it is strange. She has to haul over a stool, which is much too heavy for her.

As she climbs over the stool, the girl she sees in the mirror…it is not her. A green dress, long, curly dark brown hair, and wide, olive green eyes. This image—it is of a girl who had no longer lived. 

She had ceased to exist after the Captain had saved her from this life all these years ago.

Gothel had left, but…how could she have forgotten _mother dearest_?

Cassandra gazes at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are large, sad, brimming with loss and shattered dreams. The longer she gazes at it, the more that she has begun to realize—

That look she had so hated. The lost, haunted gaze that Varian has held. He reminded her so much of herself all those years ago…

She may not have saved her past self, but Varian…there is still a chance for him.

Cassandra cannot let go of her past, but maybe—

Just little by little, maybe she can save someone else’s future.

She swings herself off the wooden stool and lands on the floor with a hard thud. There is a sweet melody in the lonely cottage she had once resided in all those years ago. Her eyes wander over to a music box. 

Once, it had been a memento of her mother, of Gothel. The present, thoughtful and sweet, as she once thought it to be…was nothing more than a reminder of the false love she had been granted.

Cassandra walks carefully, eyes never straying as she approaches the music box. Waiting for the melody to end, she hums a slow, mournful tune.

“Why,” Cassandra says as she rips the music box from where it had been perched. “Why did you leave me!?”

The music box is smashed, gears and springs have scattered across the floor. Distantly, she knows Varian would be able to fix it if he were here.

But, he is not. Cassandra sobs. The only person who had never overlooked her even once is gone.

“Are you okay?”

There is a girl standing in-front of Cassandra. She cannot be older than three. Long, blonde hair and…a chameleon on her shoulder. She is looking at Cassandra, eyes wide in concern. “Do you know where mother went?”

Cassandra can almost visualize it. This girl, who she had known as Rapunzel…she was the one who Gothel had chosen in the end.

Deep inside, she knows Rapunzel is not to blame. But, Gothel, Varian, that ghost girl…all of this is too much for her.

They are all dead or out of reach, but Rapunzel…she is still here. If Cassandra can have no one to blame, well, that is not true.

“Yes, you took her.”

She does not look back as she opens the door.

“Cassandra, wait—!!”

The door closes, and so……

\---

“Cassandra, Cassandra, wake up!!” There is a voice, loud and grating in her ears. The sun is much too bright, and so, Cassandra raises her arms over her eyes.

“Five more minutes, mom.”

_Wait…mom?_

Her eyes snap up and immediately, she is face to face with Princess Rapunzel. _Why is she here?_

“Oh good, you weren’t up yet and we were getting so worried. Right, Eugene?” Rapunzel claps her hands together, eyes brimming with compassion and a warmth Cassandra tells herself that she does not deserve.

Eugene responds, but as usual, Cassandra merely tunes him out.

She finds her eyes wandering back to Rapunzel, but—

_You took her, Rapunzel. It’s your fault. All your fault._

_Gothel left me because of you._

This is too much. It is way too much for her. Cassandra gets up, much to Rapunzel’s protests, and leaves.

\---

She does not know how it happened, but her feet lead her back to Old Corona. The sun has long since set, but Cassandra does not feel tired. There is a bone-weary numbness that has set over her, but physically, she is fine. Emotionally numb, but…overall, nothing is wrong.

Somehow, in all the chaos that had ensued, the chrysanthemums had disappeared from Corona.

Rapunzel explained that they had disappeared overnight, only to have these black rocks take their place.

Though, Cassandra knows this to be false. In likelihood, they are still present, but following Varian and the strange girl to wherever the road takes them. Such as…how these black rocks will take Rapunzel to _her_ destiny.

Cassandra will follow Rapunzel like how the chrysanthemums will follow Varian like a funeral procession, but she does not mind. This is her lot in life. Rapunzel will get her own happy ending. She should be happy enough to at least contribute towards it.

If there is a bright side, she knows these black rocks are linked to Varian in a way.

No matter where this long, winding road may take them, she knows their paths will cross once again.

But…an unease has washed over her. She is certain this is Old Corona, so why is everything so sparse and empty? It is as if the village had vanished completely overnight. Similar to what she had heard from rumors, but _worse_.

Nothing remains.

No buildings, no fields, farming equipment, _nothing_. At most, she had seen two grave markers underneath an apple tree.

She could not read the name engraved in the older gravestone. It was too old and weather worn. But, as for the other one…

It was actually quite ornate. There was more detail placed into its construction than the previous stone, but she is certain they were both made with love. The last name, she does not recognize.

Whoever this ‘Quirin’ was, she wonders if he still has any family left.

As she steps away from the grave marker, Cassandra hopes that wherever Quirin and his family may be, that they are all safe and happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tile is a line from 'Hitchcock' by Yorushika.
> 
> This whole time, I was just having flashbacks to Yzma!Zhan Tiri. I'm genuinely curious as to what her relationship with Demanitus was. My headcanon is that they had the 'Emperor's New Groove' escapades, but with Demanitus as a monkey. I find Zhan Tiri a really interesting character. She still definitely wants to destroy Corona in this AU, but I want to explore her background a bit more. Without a doubt, she's still an awful person so RIP Varian.
> 
> Also thinking of writing a Death Parade AU after posting the final chapter. It'll have Varian as a guest & 'Rapunzel' as the main arbiter. 
> 
> Anyway, last chapter will be solely from Varian's POV. The second part of 'Season of Chrysanthemums' will be called, 'Beneath the Willow Tree' to keep up with the plant motif!


	9. A Faded Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Mild blood, suicidal thoughts, depictions of death

“Deaths are always so sad, aren’t they?” The sky is an endless array of blue. Soft, hazy sunlight has enveloped Old Corona, but Varian cannot find an inkling of warmth from the lovely sight. It is a clear day, for all intents and purposes. There is no fault to find in this day, and it is exactly why he has taken offense to it. The day is kind, and clear, and bright, but neither he nor the remains of what lie beneath the earth can feel its warmth.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been alive to experience life or death, Moondrop.” This blue girl, _Zhan Tiri_ , the demon who had tormented him, haunted his nightmares, and hurt Cass, she seems unassuming. There is a curious glint in her eyes as she lazily floats above the nearly insurrected gravestone he had spent the entirety of the day constructing. “Don’t you find it pointless to keep grave markers? Humans sure are strange. Personally, I cannot find the value in maintaining a structure that you’d have no use for.”

She seems benign in her curiosity, which is a far cry from how she had conducted herself the previous days. Here, this demon seems almost approachable. “Would your efforts not be used towards a more worthwhile endeavor?”

As he turns his head to look at the blue girl, he winces at the slight sting on his chest. He shouldn’t move so much; his wounds hadn’t fully healed. While he does not completely understand what had happened, he still does not know if he should be thankful to Zhan Tiri. There is a part of him that wishes he had never woken up.

“Graves are a comfort for the living, not the dead.” He almost hopes it will rain. There is only so much sunlight and blue skies that he can handle.

“You’ll see them soon enough. All humans die quickly.” Zhan Tiri’s eyes never waver from the grave markers. As Varian looks up at her, he cannot help but wonder what memories or thoughts she had lost herself to. Whatever it may be, he knows that he would never be able to comprehend them. Her memories, they are too grandiose and extensive. The knowledge she has attained in her infinite age is boundless—it will surely surpass everything he will learn in this life and the next.

“Even so, I want to say goodbye.” Varian’s eyes wander back to the graves. He must admit the location his dad had chosen was idyllic. Even with the harsh rays of the sun boring onto the earth, this hollow, isolated haven is temperate. The great, old tree that his mother had so loved still carries apples [and goodness knows how much Ruddiger loved these treats], but he does not feel like eating. With time and over a decade of rain and uncertainties, his mother’s grave had gradually eroded. Varian desperately desired to fix up her grave, but…he had never been told the name of his mother. His dad had hidden away nearly all remnants of her under lock and key.

Hell, there had never even been a body left to bury. In life and in death, Varian had never known her. He wishes to honor her in some way, but it would be a greater disservice to construct a grave for a person he had never known. In a way, there is more honesty to keeping a grave with an illegible name than a new, pretty, but unnamed grave.

“Tell me about them,” Zhan Tiri states. There is no hidden agenda in her voice, and her face seems utterly impassive.

Varian looks towards his father’s grave. He had so desperately hoped for him to be alive, but…it was a falsity. A tall tale he had told himself every night to keep his heart from shattering.

But, it was too late. His fate was sealed ever since he had messed with those black rocks. Quirin died the night he had been trapped inside the amber. He had killed his father, and now he has to live with the guilt.

He almost wishes Quirin’s lifeless corpse had never been released from the amber. It would have been nice to carry on with these hazy, isolated days with the end goal of setting him free. His life would have been a fairytale—calm, peaceful, and happy in its end. Still, it would not have been fair to his father. He is well aware he cannot trust this demon. She does not possess a shred of compassion or sympathy, but she had freed him from the amber. Zhan Tiri may only be using him to further her own goal, but she is all that he has left now.

Varian could almost laugh at the irony. It figures that only an ancient demonic girl could be the one to tolerate him. He does not hate the girl. There is not much that he feels towards her, or anyone, really. He had died during the blizzard, when his dad had been ensnared in an amber tomb.

Or, perhaps not. Maybe he was never alive in the first place.

As he ponders Zhan Tiri’s question, he figures that it is better to have her as company than no one at all. If he were to be left alone, who knows what would become of him?

Though, perhaps he would not be entirely alone.

Those shadows, ominous, tall, and foreboding as they have always been, are an ever present constant in his life.

_Should he answer her question?_

He looks towards the ghostly blue girl, but there really is no hint of malice or contempt in her curiosity. At least, none that he can detect.

“Why?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, who knows?” Zhan Tiri asks cheerfully. “We’ll be traveling together for who knows how long, Moondrop.”

“What if I said I wanted to know more about you as a friend?”

“I’d say that is a lie.” He can hear the sickeningly sweet tone of her voice, the way her smile seems too wide, far too fake to be genuine. She is wearing the mask of one who has never been happy, but he can relate.

“Perhaps, Moondrop, perhaps.” Zhan Tiri floats down beside him onto the grass. Her face is perched on her hands as she swings her legs back and forth. It is a childish act, but Varian, he can humor her at least. Just this one time, he can forget and lose himself in his memories.

“What do you want to know?” Varian asks carefully.

“We have plenty of time before we leave for the Dark Kingdom.” Zhan Tiri regards his question with a feigned expression of compassion. “Tell me about your dad, or, what was her name?”

A pause, and then…

“Adira,” Varian says.

“Yes, the brotherhood. We’ll be paying them a visit,’ the demon responds cheerfully. “There is a favor from them that that I must reclaim.”

The sun is setting, and with the last slivers of sunlight fading into dusk, so too will the shattered remains of the two he had known as family. Once he steps foot outside of Old Corona, he knows that he will never return. In this life or the next, he will never see Quirin again, nor will he ever meet his mother. The last remnants of his past life will be forsaken as he takes Zhan Tiri’s hand and ventures off into an unknown future.

The road will be long, windy, and vast, but at the end, he knows it will not be a happy one.

He will forfeit what he has stolen from the moonstone, and so, his story will come to a close.

It is not a happy life, but it is just. He wipes the tears that have begun to drip down his face, ignoring how Zhan Tiri glances at him with an expression he cannot begin to comprehend.

Nothing about his life had been of importance, but at least it will end in a proper way.

_Goodbye, dad. Goodbye, mom._

He knows they cannot hear him from beneath the earth.

\---

Bright, vivid orange is pooling across the hard, stone floor of his lab. Shards of amber have embedded themselves onto his skin in his haste, but he does not pay them any mind. Nor does he acknowledge the transparent blue girl that had situated herself by the windowsill. If he had seen the cruel, wicked smile adorning her face, he had not let it be known.

“Dad, dad, I’m so sorry!!” Varian runs towards Quirin, who…curiously remains slumped on the ground. His eyes are closed and unseeing. He cannot detect any hint of life, whether it be through the rise and fall of his chest, or…a pulse. “You’re safe now; I’m here for you!”

He waits for his dad to speak. He waits and waits and waits—

All he has done is wait for his happy ending to come, but…nothing. He has accomplished absolutely nothing in the time that he had been stolen from his life.

Quirin, he—

He runs. Away from the amber. Away from Quirin. His work table…it had always been his safe haven. It is old and coated in dust and moss, but it is safe.

Varian grabs at his wrist. His nails dig into his skin. He is silent, but then, a sob. He should not cry or be sad, not when he had been the cause of this misfortune. Quirin is gone. Old Corona is gone. But, why is it that he still remains?

“Zhan Tiri, wait, you can bring him back!!” He smiles brightly at the ghostly girl, as if she were his last beacon of hope. Though, in this case, that certainly would not be far from the truth.

“Please, you have to save him!! You _have_ to!” His voice sounds so unlike his own. It is loud and hysterical. He wants to say more, but there is laughter. He cannot think with such a grating sound, but it takes him a moment to realize he had been the one laughing this entire time. “He’s all I have left. Please, please, I’ll do anything.”

His heart, if he had ever possessed one to begin with, it is broken.

All he had done, everything he had strived for, none of his actions had amounted to anything.

“I’m sorry, my dear little Moondrop. I truly, deeply am.” Zhan Tiri laughs lightly, as she floats over to where Quirin’s remains reside. “There is nothing I can do to save him. As great as my abilities may be, not even I can bring back the dead.”

“But…you saved me,” he whispers.

“Yes, but you were not dead. On the cusp of death, sure, but you still had a living, beating heart,” she nonchalantly replies. Her gaze falls onto Quirin, particularly the crumpled note clutched in his hand.

“Moondrop, you may want to see this.” She spins around towards Varian and gestures him to follow her.

He wants to ignore her and pretend that Quirin is not there. Varian closes his eyes, and there, his dad is still alive and whole. Their lives had never become disrupted from the amber or the black rocks. He still does not talk to Varian, but it does not matter. In this world, he is _alive_.

Varian opens his eyes. As much as he does not want to see the empty husk of his father, this is a punishment that he deserves. It is the least that he must endure for what he had done.

The ghostly girl is right and just in her incessant need to torment him, and so, he listens.

He wanders aimlessly towards the amber, now melted.

There is a note Quirin had written for him in his very last moments. Despite the amber liquid coating the sheet of parchment, he can still distinguish his father’s writing. His arms shake as he reaches for it—the last remnants of his father’s words. His last thoughts, and their meaning.

_Son_. Varian sees the first word. He is almost tempted to avert his eyes, but he presses on. Whatever Quirin had written, Varian will see to it that he follows through.

_I am so, so proud of you._

Such hollow, empty words. What is there to be proud of?

_I am sorry for not being there for you. For not being the father that you deserved._

What…that……can’t be right.

_There is much I should have told you. Secrets to be shared, but…I was scared and angry. Of you? At myself? Ulla?_

Ulla…could that have been his mother?

_I never envisioned myself in fatherhood, much less becoming a widow too soon. Varian, you reminded me so much of your mother. You were a blessing, but you were also a symbol of my mistakes. Every false step I took, every dark road I crossed._

His eyes are blurry. The note, he can hardly see it, but, there is too much here…

_Varian, son, you are not broken. You are not crazy or dangerous or any of those things. Long ago, before I had you, I served a king in a far away land._

_Like how Frederic had taken the sundrop, the_ _Dark_ _Kingdom_ _was in possession of the moonstone._

_I was never so foolish as to take the stone. Magic is unstable. It is unreliable and will twist even the kindest of souls._

_Even if I had never taken it, I was still exposed to its magic. I never suffered any ill effects, so I thought all was well and fine…until you were born._

_That blue streak in your hair, your eyes which are so unlike mine or Ulla’s, it is my fault. I am responsible for your curse. Words will never be enough, but I apologize._

_I am so sorry for being a bad father, for damning you to this cursed life._

_Even with my death, I hope you will find a better future for yourself. I believe you will succeed where I have failed._

_I am proud of you, my son._

Though teary, he at once, feels at peace.

It’s a shame this moment was shattered.

“Your father surprisingly wrote quite a number for a man moments away from his death,” Zhan Tiri observes. She had hovered behind Varian, peering at the letter he was holding in shaky hands.

Despite himself, he cannot help but laugh. It is too fast, maybe hysterical and uneven. The laugh is not happy, but finally, he has answers.

“Zhan Tiri, you told me you can’t bring back the dead, but can you erase Old Corona?”

The demon smiles sweetly at Varian. “Whatever could you mean?”

“No one will ever come back to this village. It is a cursed town, haunted by a wizard,” Varian says, voice wavering. “Will you erase its existence?”

“Maybe, but why would I ever do something like that?”

“There is nothing left for me here.” Before he can lose his courage, he asks “Would…you be able to erase Cass’s memories of me?”

“I cannot change her memories, I’m afraid. But getting rid of Old Corona? Now, that is doable,” Zhan Tiri cheerfully responds.

“Thank you,’ Varian says, sincerely.

For but a mere moment, the demon was silent. Her expression stunned and bewildered.

“Of course, my dear moondrop.”

Wherever this road may lead, he knows this destiny is his, and his alone.

\---

While this chapter of his life may have closed, Varian cannot brush aside the pang of regret he feels as he collects the last of his belongings.

Ruddiger, he is nowhere to be seen. He had insisted for the raccoon to part ways with him all those months ago, shortly after the blizzard. There is a traitorous side of him that wishes to see the raccoon again, but he knows this is for the best.

The shadows still whisper from beneath the trees, ever present and grating, but for once, he regards them with a kind indifference. Zhan Tiri, she has never left his side. He knows he should be wary of her—

Afterall, she could plague Corona with fire and brimstone if she so pleases. He should be frightened, but he is not.

He misses his dad. He misses Cass, but he knows this sadness will not remain forever.

He smiles at his memories of them, but it is not a kind one. Still, it is a start. 

With time, it will pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Varian's journey outside of Old Corona will begin. Thank you so much for reading; I hope to see you in part two!! The next installment will cover season 2, so there will definitely be more key players besides Varian, Cass, & Zhan Tiri!
> 
> I wasn't too sure with all of the angst I was writing. It all just felt too mean to Varian, but he has a lot more self-loathing and anxiety here. His recovery from the amber is far from over, but it is a start.
> 
> This was my first ever fanfic, so it was a pretty cool experience. At the very least, it made this quarantine more interesting. 
> 
> And until next time, please stay safe!!


End file.
